


The Heat of the Moment

by imunbreakabledude



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Boxing & Fisticuffs, F/F, Fighter/Coach AU, Mixed Martial Arts, Sparring, Sweat, There will be rough sex, and bad business practices, but ultimately safe & consensual, definitely not a realistic representation of the UFC world, no one asked for this AU but i'm writing it anyway, or maybe it is i don't know, smut to come, tw: discussion of food/weight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: Olympic boxer Oksana Astankova is looking to break into MMA.Sought-after manager Eve Polastri is looking for a brand new fighter to coach from the ground up.They'll beat the crap out of everyone in their way.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 367
Kudos: 816





	1. Sizing Up

**Author's Note:**

> Should I be starting a third fic right now?? Probably not! But I don't have many other obligations, and, this thought, which I intended to mark as an idea for later, kept coming back and punching me in the face (metaphorically) until I decided to push it to the front.
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoy this poorly-researched highly fanciful AU :)

Eve wishes she bought popcorn.

Not because the match in front of her is so exciting. The opposite: the fight is so incredibly dull that she wishes she had some fully unhealthy, salt-butter-and-the-works, twenty dollar giant souvenir tub of popcorn to munch on, because at least the action of eating would occupy a braincell or two.

The Honda Center is packed with people, every one of whom is happier to be there than Eve. They cheer madly, calling for blood. _Popcorn_ , Eve's brain says. She could flag down a PA, or even a random fan in the stands, slip them a bill, tell them to run to the snack bar for her. But that requires one notch of effort more than what Eve is willing to spare; she doesn’t want to _buy_ popcorn, she wants to _have bought_ it. So Eve sits, and sighs, and wishes that her past self had less self-control, and watches the two men in the octagonal ring grapple on the ground. They’re both so tattooed, Eve can’t tell which limbs belong to which competitor. 

It’s the penultimate bout of the night, with only the headline match left to go, though that doesn’t promise much more excitement, with the odds heavily favoring the defending champion. Eve idly considers leaving, going home to draw a nice, hot bath. Although the fights can’t hold her interest, she must stay, for her real work starts afterwards.

After three rounds of the tattooed doppelgängers sitting knotted on the floor, the judges declare Slightly Taller Tattoo Guy to be the winner in a narrowly tight split decision. A cacophony of cheers and boos erupts from all sides of the crowd, but it is overtaken by chants of excitement as the fighters for the headlining match enter the stadium.

Surprise, surprise – the champ defends his title, in a second round technical knockout. The crowd roars. Eve checks her phone. Past one in the morning. She dreads to think of what hour she’ll be reunited with her pillow.

While the champ gives his only halfway-coherent victory speech, Eve slips through the packed bodies towards the exit. Better to beat the crowds on their way out.

At the relatively more stimulating environment of the afterparty, Eve makes the rounds, makes her requisite chats with the other managers and coaches. Then, a face she’s actually happy to see emerges from the crowd, and comes towards her: Carolyn Martens, the executive director of the Women’s division of UFC. A woman most managers would kill for a two-minute conversation with, and an old friend of Eve’s.

“Eve, you devil.” Carolyn says, pulling her in for a hug. “How’d you find the title bout?”

“I’ve seen better fights at my local supermarket over the last box of Frosted Flakes,” Eve replies.

“It’s even more depressing when you can tell from a mile away,” Carolyn says. “I tried to warn them – even though yes, the championship was on the line, this wouldn’t provide the excitement to end the night. I urged them to consider ending with a scrappier fight with a couple of women who promise entertainment. But you know the people I work with.”

“Assholes,” Eve says.

“Complete and utter arseholes,” Carolyn reiterates. “Of which I am proud to count among their number.” She smiles wistfully. “It’s been too long; I’ve lost track – who are you working with, these days?”

“I’m on the hunt,” Eve says.

“Jess had a spat with her manager,” Carolyn offers without a moment’s hesitation. “Some disagreement about promoting protein supplements on her Instagram. You could swoop in.”

“I don’t want an old horse,” Eve says. “That’s all well and good, but I want a challenge. Someone I can mold. Someone I can really make or break.”

“You don’t want to get in the ring yourself?” Carolyn asks with a sly smile and a sip at her drink.

Eve laughs bitterly. “Even if I did, my time was decades ago. Should’ve hit the gym instead of hitting the books.”

If Eve’s honest with herself, she does dream about that road not taken sometimes. Usually when she’s submerged in a hot tub, with a face mask on, inhaling the scent of bubble bath… when her body feels young again, and she can believe all the world’s choices are still in front of her.

But then she gets out of the bath, and she’s content where she is. More than content: Eve _loves_ her job.

Eve is proud to be an anomaly: a coach _and_ a manager. Her unorthodox situation makes it a challenge to be taken seriously, sometimes. People view her as a gimmick, see her as a hack not qualified to do either, at which point she gladly whips out her degrees in Business and Kinesiology and Sports Psychology. It also makes it a challenge to find clients, since they must be in the market for both a coach and a manager, and are willing to take that unusual approach with her.

But when she finds them? Oh, that’s delectable, that’s indescribable, that’s where Eve thrives. She shapes her clients completely. She feels like Michelangelo must have felt with his marble. She has full authority to envision the finished sculpture of the fighter’s career, and no one else can get in the way of that. Well, except the client themselves. Which brings her back to her present dilemma: the hunt.

Eve plots her path carefully: it’s no use circling through the parts of the crowd with the veterans, the fighters fresh off of competition tonight, or indeed anyone she’s met before. Those folks won’t provide what she’s looking for, and she’ll only get dragged into some small talk about who’s looking strong at the moment but who else might give him a run for his money. Instead, she heads for the fringes, where the first time guests, the plus-ones, the hopefuls, remain.

When her first loop doesn’t turn up any suitable prospects, she decides to hang back and take a breather, to gain some perspective – and a glass of champagne wouldn’t hurt. After grabbing a flute from a table she plants herself over by a larger-than-life cardboard cutout of the still-reigning champ, Luther Muñoz. 

Eve had purposefully given herself a bubble of personal space (she’s never been a fan of the close-pressed crowds at these parties), so she senses immediately when someone else comes to rest within her vicinity. She looks up to see a young, midtwenties blonde woman, in a tailored, all-white suit with heels to match. A striking look, though it has competition in the eye-catching department tonight, lacking the garishness of many of the athlete’s party outfits. From the woman’s style, Eve guesses she could be media, though there’s no press badge on her that Eve can see. Maybe a manager like Eve, or even a producer – though she’s a bit young for that, but as Eve gets older, she swears the suits get younger and younger.

Eve takes all of this in from a nanosecond’s glance – it’s part of her job to size people up in an instant – so she returns to watching the crowd, and is somewhat startled when she hears a voice right next to her.

“What did you think of tonight?” The accent is foreign; Eve can’t exactly place it, but accents other than American are somewhat common at these events, since many of the fighters and their trainers come from all over the world.

Eve looks over to the woman in the white suit. “Me?”

“Is there anyone else around?” The woman smiles, one part friendly, one part cheeky.

“I thought the title fight disappointed. Predictable. Lackluster. I like an upset.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” The woman has closed the distance between her and Eve now, standing about a foot a way. They’re officially _Having A Conversation_ now. Eve only hopes it doesn’t waste too much of her time; she’s still dreaming of her bathtub waiting at home.

“Not the favorite,” Eve replies.

“What do you do?” The woman asks, beating Eve to that same question.

With an experienced move, Eve whips out a business card. “Eve Polastri. Manager, coach, yes both, yes at the same time. Currently accepting new clients, if you know anyone.”

“What a coincidence,” the woman replies, as she reads Eve’s card. “I’m currently looking for representation.”

Eve is unable to hide the surprise in her voice. “You’re a fighter?”

“A very good one.”

“Yet you’re standing all the way over here, like an outcast.” 

“So are you.”

Eve takes a harder look at this woman’s face, the gears in her brain turning madly. She has seen this face before, she’s sure of it…

The woman obviously picks up on Eve’s searching stare. “Ah, it’s my own fault you don’t know who I am,” The woman says, an exaggerated apology. “I left my medal at home. Trying to be humble, you know.”

“And you changed your hair,” Eve adds.

The woman raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You were a brunette, at the Olympics. Oksana Astankova. Gold Medalist in Women’s Lightweight boxing. Russian expat, won for France.”

“You _do_ know who I am,” Oksana says with unrestrained glee.

“It’s my job to know those kinds of things,” Eve says dismissively. “What brings you to the Honda Center? I would’ve thought you’d be hard in the throes of preparing for next year’s Olympics.”

“I have quit boxing,” Oksana says simply.

“You don’t say.”

“It was growing boring.” Oksana sticks her hands in her pockets, which makes it evident for the first time that she’s wearing men’s trousers.

“Winning gold medals was boring for you?”

“Once you have one… what good is another?” Oksana flashes a pearly-white grin.

“I’ll drink to that,” Eve says, and reaches out to swipe another champagne flute from a passing cater-waiter.

She holds it out, but Oksana declines with a tiny shake of her head. “I don’t drink.”

Eve shrugs, and alternates sips between the two glasses in her hands. Times like this, she’s glad she didn’t become a fighter – no room for even small indulgences.

“You are an experienced coach in this world?” Oksana asks.

“Manager and coach,” Eve says, automatically correcting her. “I’m highly sought after as each.”

“Then why are you taking new clients?” Oksana prods. “Why aren’t you fully booked if you are so amazing?”

“I’m not a match for all fighters. Nor are most fighters a match for me. I have exceedingly high standards.”

“You are a control freak, I can tell.”

“Yes,” Eve says, taking another sip of champagne. “I am.”

Oksana shake her head lightly to toss her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Perhaps it is your lucky day, Eve Polastri. I will consider signing with you.”

Eve laughs. “I don’t remember making you an offer.”

“You know who I am. You have seen what I can do.”

“In boxing,” Eve replies. “Are you even trained in other martial arts?”

“You think I spend all my time between Olympics just beating a bag?”

“Still,” Eve says, “There’s a difference between someone who’s trained in the styles, and someone who can make it in UFC.”

“Did I mention – gold medal, first try?” Oksana plays idly with the white buttons on her chest, in the spot where the medal would hang. Eve can’t help but notice that her fingers are long, delicate, and rather well-kept for a boxer’s hands.

“Prestige doesn’t mean shit here,” Eve scoffs. “No one cares about medals, they only care if you can beat the shit out of other women time and time again on live television, and avoid putting off sponsors while doing it.”

“I can do that,” Oksana says, and her deathly serious tone, paired with an icy gaze, is rather convincing.

“I might consider giving you a chance,” Eve says, carefully. “But I don’t like wasting my time. So if I’m going to even audition you, I want to know that you are seriously interested. As your manager and your coach, I’ll be on you one hundred percent of the time. You’ll be sick of me before the end of day one.”

Oksana shrugs. “The thing I hate most, in this line of work, is having so many people chattering at me. Every day, dozens of people yapping over my shoulder. Having just you yapping at me, I think that might be better.” Oksana extends her hand for a handshake. “When is this ‘audition’?”

“We can meet at my gym tomorrow for your physical demonstration for Eve the coach. Eleven AM. The address is on my card. And for Eve the manager, well, you’ve been auditioning for her for the past five minutes.”

“Oh?” Oksana giggles with delight. “How am I doing?”

“Not bad,” Eve admits, and immediately regrets it – she can see Oksana’s ego inflating to twice its size behind her greedy hazel eyes. “Let’s get the other hard parts out on the table now. The compromises.” 

Ah, the dreaded C-word. Eve gets a perverse pleasure from seeing the ego wane ever so slightly in Oksana’s eyes at that word. “If you want to make it in UFC, first thing you’re gonna need is a rebranding. Oksana is too foreign, you’ll never catch on.” Off her disgusted look, Eve clarifies, “It’s not _my_ xenophobia, it’s America’s.”

“So you want me to call myself Sally Mary Johnson?” Oksana snorts. “Pride of the U.S. of A?” For this last bit, she puts on a middle-America accent, which is surprisingly good.

“Keep the Russian accent. I like it. But lose the name.” Eve drains her second champagne glass, and sneaks both empties onto the tray of another passing waiter. “Your homework for tomorrow is to come up with something you like. Simple and striking. A name that will make your opponents want to shit their shorts, but also make sponsors want you to hawk their anti-aging lotion.”

“You realize those two things are opposites?” Oksana laughs.

“By tomorrow,” Eve repeats, then tucks her clutch under her arm, and begins her swift quest for the nearest exit.

It’s nearly three in the morning when she finally steps into her bath, but she doesn’t regret it one bit. Luckily, she has no meetings in the morning before her eleven o’clock appointment with Oksana, so she lets herself soak until she’s pruny and then tucks herself into her queen-size bed, stretching out fully.

Is Oksana Astankova the one? It’s hard to say. Her skill in the boxing ring is unmatched – Eve recalls now, watching her win the gold three years ago – her knockout strike was downright terrifying. But is she adaptable? Boxers making the leap into mixed martial arts have historically mixed results. 

Plus, Manager-Eve notes, there is an obvious and undeniable whiff of rebelliousness on Oksana that, left unchecked, could lead to chronic PR headaches. At the same time, though, Eve likes a smack of rebellion. It keeps things exciting. It’s better than dealing with a wet-toast client, where coaxing a spark out of them is like wading through molasses. She’s had her share of those, and vowed to never put herself through that again.

  
When morning rolls around, Eve makes her way to her private gym – or rather, her private studio, which takes up the entire fourth floor of a MMA gym in Los Angeles. She warms herself up with her standard gamut of stretches, a few minutes on the speed bag, and then climbs into the training ring to pace. 

Eleven o’clock. No sign of Oksana. Eve does not appreciate lateness; in fact, it’s her number one pet peeve in a client. She had almost written off Oksana already, for failing to show up ten minutes early.

Eve watches the clock over the doorway as the second hand creeps around to twelve. Almost 11:01. If Oksana’s not here in the next fifteen seconds, she’s out. Maybe it’s a silly cutoff, but if she can’t even respect Eve’s time, then it’s a sign of much larger problems down the road.

Almost like she knew what Eve was thinking, almost like she planned it, Oksana appears in the doorway exactly as the clock strikes 11:01. She’s clad in a light-blue sweatsuit with mesh breathable patches, and her blonde tresses are tucked back into a no-nonsense ponytail. “Villanelle,” she says.

“What?”

“Villanelle,” Oksana repeats. “That is who you are signing.”

“Hold your horses, _Villanelle_ ,” Eve says, savoring the feel of that name in her mouth… Beautiful, yet also with a threatening air. A name that hides a secret. It’s perfect. “You haven’t passed the physical test yet.”

Smirking, Oksana unzips her hoodie and kicks off her sweatpants, revealing a matching blue bra and shorts combo underneath. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a set of gauze wraps, and begins wrapping her hands deftly as she stalks toward the training ring. “Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls share thoughts :)
> 
> or follow my dumb mug on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	2. Throwing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Oksana spar to see if Oksana meets Eve's physical qualifications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started making a playlist for this fic, but it’s only “The Heat of the Moment” by Asia, which believe it or not, I was not even thinking of when I titled the fic. Now it’s on loop in my head. Thanks, Haley.

Before Oksana’s sweatsuit hits the floor, Eve has taken in all the details underneath it, and she must admit she’s impressed. Even though Oksana hasn’t been in active competition for several months, she’s clearly keeping in top shape.

“You compete Lightweight?” Eve asks as Oksana finishes wrapping her hands.

“Before, yes. But I have been wanting to move up.” She smirks. “You could tell.”

“Like I said last night, it’s my job to notice those kinds of things.”

And Eve does take pride in her attention to detail; it’s one of her greatest assets as a coach. Certainly, it helps that she spent some time that morning reviewing footage of Oksana’s championship fight from three years ago, as well as some regional competitions she won since then, but even without that old footage for comparison, it’s clear that Oksana has put on some bulk since then, mainly in the shoulders, back, and thighs. 

Oksana pulls her wraps tight, kicks off her shoes, then, with a wiggle of her toes, climbs through the ropes to join Eve in the boxing training ring. “You don’t want me in the cage?” She nods to the other side of the gym floor, where Eve has set up a smaller version of the iconic octagonal chain-link UFC ring. 

“Not necessary at this stage,” Eve says. “Are you warmed up?”

“Of course.”

Eve goes to the corner of the ring and reaches outside to a crate of gear. She slips on a paid of flat, circular training pads and returns to the ring, squaring off with Oksana. The pads go up like two targets, ready and waiting. “Show me what you can do.”

Oksana smiles, catlike, and offers a couple of speedy, weak jabs at the pads, testing Eve’s reaction. Calmly, Eve moves her hands to new spots, and waits for each time Oksana hits the targets to move them. Gradually, she picks up the speed, forcing Oksana to follow suit. Jab-cross combo. Uppercut. A few feints – but Oksana doesn’t fall for them, and hits the mark each time.

Eve begins incorporating movement to test Oksana’s footwork, keeping the to-and-fro motion of the pads and she begins to shuffle around the ring. “You don’t drink,” Eve says, bluntly.

“No,” Oksana replies, tapping the pad where Eve held it up next to her ear, her fist moving so fast it creates a whipping _whoosh_ of its own.

“Any drugs?”

“No.”

“I don’t just mean the performance-enhancing kind.”

“None.”

“Cigarettes, marijuana…?”

“Do you want me to piss in a cup for you?” Oksana grunts as she catches herself before she falls for one of Eve’s feints, but manages to hit the pad where Eve dropped it down below her knee. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Eve says coolly. “You can relax. I’m not trying for a ‘gotcha’ moment. I’m getting to know you.”

“And your idea of getting to know someone is reciting a checklist of what they do or don’t put in their body?”

“Part of it,” Eve says. “Do you have many friends?”

“Are you asking if I sleep around?”

“If that’s what I wanted to know, that’s what I would ask.”

Oksana delivers a hard right hook that sends a rough impact through Eve’s whole arm. “I thought I already passed the test for ‘Eve the Manager’.”

Eve resists the urge to drop her arm and shake it out, not wanting to show any hint of weakness in front of a potential client. “You still didn’t answer the question.”

“I’ve lived all over the world. I run with many crowds,” Oksana says, shifting her feet quickly to keep up with Eve’s increasingly erratic movements of the pads.

“People you continue to see on a regular basis?” Eve prods. “Do you form deep, lifelong connections?”

Oksana nails the pad with a monstrously strong cross. “I don’t have many ‘friends’ if you put it that way, no.”

“Good,” Eve says. She slips the pads off and tosses them away, stretching out her fingers. Then she reaches back in her crate for a set of lightweight MMA gloves. “Let’s spar.”

“Are you sure?” Oksana says. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

Eve pulls her hair back into a tight ponytail, and tightens the velcro on her gloves. No, she certainly couldn’t take Oksana Astankova in a proper boxing match, but she isn’t too afraid of what Oksana’s punches can do without gloves on. Besides, this is her chance to test how Oksana will react when forced out of her stylistic comfort zone. 

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Eve says, and Oksana seems to have gotten over any reservations she had, because almost as soon as Eve can get her guard up, Oksana goes on the offensive with a series of quick jabs. It’s not too difficult for Eve to block them, already having warmed up to Oksana’s typical style with the pad workout. _She favors the upper left quadrant when starting a combination,_ Eve notes. Not a dealbreaker, not nearly. But it’s all information, and information is everything.

Eve lets Oksana lead the first few approaches, blocking the strikes with her biceps, then, when she feels the boxer is getting a little too comfortable, launches her first advance. Jab-jab to bring the eyes up, then a kick, shin to thigh, which lands with a dull _smack_ , bone against muscle. Not a takedown blow, but a bit of pain that can add up over time. 

With some satisfaction, Eve notes Oksana’s shocked dropback. She had grown too comfortable with the padwork; she had forgotten she was here to prove her mettle for MMA rather than boxing. But that will only work once, Eve knows, and now Oksana is sure to consciously vary her style more. 

“What other arts have you studied?” Eve asks, while she dodges another jab.

“A little Muay Thai,” Oksana says, catching Eve with a low kick as if to prove the point. “Some Tae Kwon Do. Lately some Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.”

“Lots of striking,” Eve comments. “But you can’t get by in MMA without grappling. Have you done any wrestling? Any Judo?”

“Let us say my grappling with other women is more of the recreational variety,” Oksana lets out a breathy laugh as she blocks another of Eve’s punches. 

Eve does not flinch nor blush at the titillating implication. “That’s something we can work on – if you’re a good study.”

“So says every teacher I’ve ever had.”

“Who’d you learn with?”

“Boxing, from my mentor, Konstantin Vasiliev. He coached me since childhood. But he is not so interested in me spreading my wings, as you say.”

“And the rest?” Eve asks, dropping back. They’re both a little winded now, and step back, allowing some distance, a natural pause in the match.

“I travel. I train with everyone I meet. I retain things. Konstantin says I have a photographic memory, but for punching.”

“Interesting,” Eve muses. Without any warning, she launches into a complex combination – a few hand strikes, a spin kick, a low sweep to finish it all off. Flashy, although not very functional. Then she straightens her spine, and turns on the spot to face Oksana. “Play that back for me.”

Even after the boasting, she expects Oksana to get a couple of the moves. The rough shape of the sequence, better than most would. But no, Oksana was not lying about her ability to imitate: she executes it near-perfectly on her first try.

“That was fun,” Oksana pants as she straightens up. “What is that called?”

Eve doesn’t answer, but dives and launches a low strike at Oksana’s stomach.

“Dirty trick,” Oksana says, teeth gritted. 

“Testing your reflexes,” Eve says. And like that, the contest is reignited, and they circle each other, both light on their feet, guard up, waiting for an opening. Eve feels beads of sweat building at the nape of her neck, under her ponytail. _It’s been too long,_ she thinks, at the pleasant heat blossoming across her skin. Too long without a client, too long since she had a real workout like this.

“Are you single, Eve?” Oksana fires the question as she fires off a punch.

“Why does that concern you?”

“I like to know if my partners are in bed with anyone else,” Oksana says, voice muffled as she throws her arms around her face to block Eve’s quick flurry of strikes.

“Fair enough,” Eve grunts as she ducks a high kick. Too late, she wishes she grabbed Oksana’s foot in midair to teach her the risks of such a move. “The only relationship I’m in is with my job. Which means that all of my focus will be on you. Can you handle that?”

“With pleasure.”

Eve can’t pinpoint exactly when it shifted, but something in their movements has become less teasing and more tenacious; on an unspoken level, both of them have made it clear that there’s more than a little pride at stake in this practice fight. 

Eve isn’t deluded; she’s well aware that Oksana has the advantages in height, weight, and youth. However, Eve’s edge comes from expertise, on which she had been holding back thus far, but she decides to open up little by little and see what Oksana makes of a genuine MMA fight. 

In the striking game, Oksana has control, not only because of her boxing skill but also from her extra reach. It may not seem much to an uninitiated onlooker, but those few inches that separate Oksana and Eve in height and wingspan make a notable difference. She who controls the striking radius controls the fight, after all.

But Oksana is caught off guard when Eve ducks beneath a punch and charges in to tackle Oksana, throwing her shoulder into Oksana’s abdomen and driving her up against the ropes. But it isn’t long before she adjusts, and tries locking her arms around Eve, though Eve is able to twist and slip out of it easily.

Eve is the better grappler, as well as being more familiar with the rules, and strategy of this format, but Oksana, true to her boasts, is a remarkably quick study. A camera, like she said. Any move that Eve uses against her comes back around in a few seconds. Eve must take not to reveal any of her most potent moves, for if she tries a take down, or a joint lock, it’s sure that Oksana will fire it back at her in a few seconds. 

As they stand forehead-to-forehead, locked in a clinch, Eve feels her pulse pounding, and she can feel Oksana’s pulse too, from her grip around the back of the other woman’s neck. Despite the adrenaline, Eve begins to feel fatigue taking root in her muscles. She can’t see the clock while locked up like this, but surely they’ve passed the five-minute time limit of a standard round in a fight. 

Maybe Oksana is getting tired too, or just impatient, as she breaks out of the clinch, and in one fluid motion, spins into a wildly high kick. Not a wise move – in fact an extremely reckless one – but gambling that she’ll catch Eve off guard. Which she does. 

The ball of Oksana’s foot collides with Eve’s face, and light explodes in Eve’s brain as she stumbles off balance and falls to the mat. She hears the light _tap_ of Oksana’s foot landing as she finishes the move and finds her balance. Then, quiet.

Eve waits, lying on the mat, not moving. She’s fine, mostly grateful that the kick caught her in the nose rather than the mouth, but Oksana’s reaction here will be the most telling part of the entire session.

Silence, except for the sounds of heavy breathing from both women. No sound of Oksana’s rugged accent, offering a cry of concern, or of pity. No whining “I’m _so_ sorry!” No defensive tirade, “This is why I didn’t want to spar with you!”, none of that.

Only the sticking sound of a few footsteps on the mat, then Oksana’s bare feet come into view next to Eve’s face. Then, Eve turns her face ever so slightly to look upwards and sees Oksana’s open hand extended towards her. 

Eve takes it, gripping her tight as she can with their gloved-and-wrapped hands, and Oksana helps her to her feet. “Good fight.”

“Good fight,” Eve repeats. She taps her nose softly with two fingers, confirming that it’s not broken. Ignoring the blood pouring forth, she climbs out of the ring, and makes her way over to the counter in the corner of the gym. Reaching underneath the counter, she pulls out the black folder and pen that she prepped early that morning.

Opening the folder out on the counter, she beckons Oksana with a come-hither finger. Oksana, wary, approaches.

“Your contract,” Eve says.

“It’s long,” Oksana comments, flipping through the extensive double-sided pages. 

“I am doing two jobs for you,” Eve says. “Also, I like to be thorough.”

Oksana, still pink in the cheeks from the fight, sticks the pen in her mouth, and squints down at the fine print.

“Take it home,” Eve offers, as she finally fumbles in her first-aid cabinet for a handful of gauze to clean up her face. “Read it carefully. Call me if you have questions.”

But when she looks up again, Oksana is already signing her name with a flourish. “I trust you, Eve.” 

She caps the pen, closes the folder, and smiles sweetly. “Now, would you like to get some lunch to celebrate our new relationship? That fight worked up my appetite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot women beating each other up am i right?? 🥵
> 
> lemme know what ya think
> 
> please be my friend on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxoxo


	3. Digging In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contract now signed, Eve and Oksana head to lunch to and dig into the details of their new partnership.

Eve and Oksana sit at a table for two, tucked in a corner by the window. Eve is still a bit sweaty from their workout, and starving to boot. She hadn’t had time to shower, and had only thrown on a lightweight black sweatsuit, since she is a regular at this restaurant and they’ve seen her in a worse state before. At least her nose has ceased its bleeding.

Oksana, on the other hand, took several minutes before they left to change into a few outfit, which she’d for some reason come prepared with in her gym bag. Her hair is still pulled back in its athletic ponytail, but she now has a loose white cap-sleeve blouse and a pair of well-cut olive trousers, an outfit which, while not ostentatious, still makes Eve feel underdressed by comparison. She’d even brought earrings, crisp curls of gold that catch the light when she moves.

But Eve notes: Oksana cares about how she presents herself. That’s a good sign, for a client. Means not all of the weight of her reputation will be on Eve.

Oksana pores over the menu, eyes as wide as dinner plates. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“You can’t go wrong here,” Eve says. “Everything is delicious.”

She’s taken Oksana to one of her favorite lunch spots, an unassuming but impeccable sushi restaurant tucked away in Van Nuys. Eve’s menu lays flat in front of her; she’s a frequent enough diner here to know exactly what she wants.

Luckily, by the time the waitress appears, Oksana is ready, and launches into a list: “Two spicy tuna rolls, a dragon roll, miso soup, crab tempura, and some steamed pork buns.” 

Oksana looks up at Eve, and after a moment, Eve realizes that she wasn’t being presumptuous and ordering for the both of them; she is in fact waiting for Eve to order her own. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Eve,” Oksana says, without a trace of self-consciousness. “I’m on a bulk.”

The waitress looks expectantly to Eve, who says, “I’ll have the _kappa maki_ and some pork buns, as well. Thanks.”

As the waitress scurries off to put in the order, Oksana says, “This place is nice.”

“It’s a hidden gem,” Eve says, with pride. “And I like how quiet it is here, so don’t go putting it on Yelp or any of those app things.”

Oksana snickers.

“What?”

“First ‘marijuana’, now ‘those app things’,” she chuckles. “How old are you, Eve?”

“Forty-four,” Eve says.

“Forty–?” Oksana chokes out. Eve bites back a proud grin, as Oksana mouths, “ _Wow_ ”.

“Wanted someone younger?” Eve says. 

“I think it’s great to work with someone with such _experience_ ,” Oksana says.

“Damn right,” Eve says. “Which reminds me. There’s a lot to cover to get you up to speed for the MMA world, so we might as well get started.”

“Do we have to?” Oksana whines. “This meal is a celebration. To honor our new relationship.”

“No such thing as a free lunch,” Eve says. “You get the sushi; you get the lesson along with it. But with your amazing memory, it shouldn’t be stressful.”

Oksana pouts.

“This is part of the job,” Eve says. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Then put on a happy face.”

“Is that in my contract?”

“No.”

Oksana pouts more fiercely. 

Eve begins to wonder if she offered that contract too hastily.

Another reason Eve loves this restaurant is the quick service, which does not fail today, as the waitress reappears in only a few minutes with most of the food. She has to make a second trip to bring the rest of Oksana’s sizable order. Both clearly ravenous from their sparring, they spend a minute digging in to their respective food, before Eve recalls what they were talking about before.

“So, let me give you some strategy groundwork,” Eve says, while Oksana stuffs an entire pork bun into her mouth. “Which fight nights have you been to? I’d like to start with examples you’re familiar with.”

Oksana’s eyes wander as she tries to remember. “Well, last night, for starters…”

“And?”

Oksana chews dolefully.

“That’s it?” Eve asks. “You decided on the spot after watching _one night_ that you wanted to join the UFC?”

“Is that bad?” Oksana says, finally swallowing.

“It’s bad on my part that I didn’t suss that out,” Eve mutters. “I should’ve known you’re not going to make this easy on me.”

“I already signed a contract, so you’re stuck with me.” Oksana grins as she picks up her bowl and begins to slurp her soup.

“A contract which has numerous opt-out clauses on my end,” Eve replies. “You’d know that if you bothered to read it. You slurp your soup wrong, and our deal’s void, if I want it to be.”

A _clink_ of Oksana placing her bowl down on the table. She sits on her hands and refuses to meet Eve’s gaze. An utterly unfamiliar posture, one Eve hasn’t seen on her yet, so it’s almost difficult to categorize. Is Oksana… sad? 

“There are opt-outs on your end too,” Eve says. “I don’t believe in dragging on a relationship where either party is unhappy. Or being taken advantage of.”

Oksana perks up immediately. “I’d never take advantage of you, Eve.”

Eve resists the temptation to roll her eyes and begins working on her cucumber roll. 

“Can’t we talk about anything besides business?” Oksana asks. “I want to get to know you.”

“That’s what we’re doing,” Eve says.

“Not Manager-Eve. Not Coach-Eve,” Oksana says, spreading some wasabi on her roll. “Just Eve.”

“You’re looking at her,” Eve says.

“You’re a workaholic,” Oksana says.

“I resent the negative baggage that term carries, but, it’s not entirely inaccurate.”

“‘It’s not entirely inaccurate’,” Oksana repeats back, mimicking Eve’s accent and tone. “Do you always talk in PR speak?”

“Occupational hazard.”

“So you never do anything else?” Oksana presses. “You don’t party. Relax. Travel. Fuck?”

“Work provides all the excitement I could ask for,” Eve says. “Sometimes too much.”

Oksana raises an eyebrow, then digs into her fried shrimp, crunching the batter in her teeth. 

Eve sighs. “We can talk about other things if you want.”

Oksana opens her mouth, then closes it again, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Suit yourself.”

For a few minutes, the only sounds are of them chewing their respective sushi rolls, and Oksana occasionally slurping her soup. 

Eve dips her last roll in soy sauce and pops it into her mouth. Now that she’s done, the lack of conversation feels more palpable, although Oksana is only halfway through her smorgasbord of dishes in front of her. The silence doesn’t bother Eve particularly, but it seems a wrong way to begin with a new client. She tries furiously to remember how to small talk. 

“Go ahead,” Oksana says suddenly.

“What?”

“Go ahead and ask whatever work question you want.” She pops the last bit of tempura into her mouth, and rearranges the tetris game of plates in front of her so her dragon roll is more easily accessible. “You look like you’re going to explode. Just ask.”

Eve takes a deep breath. “How big do you want to be?” 

“Sixty-one kilos,” Oksana says.

“One-thirty-five,” Eve corrects her, automatically. “You need to get used to talking in pounds. But that’s not important now. I mean, how _big_ do you want to be.”

Oksana’s eyes light with curiosity as she washes down a mouthful of rice with a large swig of water.

“Because here’s what I think,” Eve says, leaning over the table. “I think, you worked your ass off for years to get to the Olympics. I think you dominated once you got there, and had a great time, but you realized even getting the shiniest trinket from the world’s biggest show isn’t enough for you, especially when the chance only comes once every four years. Am I close?”

“Mmmf,” Oksana grunts, deep into her dragon roll.

“Because I think you want more than medals,” Eve continues, dropping her voice to a low, enticing sell. “I think you want true, honest-to-God, fame. More than three judges holding up a ten, you want the masses chanting your name.”

But instead of the eager nod that Eve expects, Oksana leans forward as well, mirroring Eve’s position. “Is that how big _you_ want to be?”

“For Villanelle,” Eve says. “I think Villanelle could be very, _very_ big. If you want that for her.”

“I do.”

“Are you willing to work for it?”

Oksana nods.

After all of Oksana’s dishes are cleaned of every crumb, she lets out a hearty belch, turning the head of a few other diners. Extremely pleased with herself, she says to Eve, “What’s next, boss?”

“Go home,” Eve says.

“Just as we are getting along?”

“Enjoy your last day of freedom,” Eve tells her. “Tomorrow at dawn, our training begins, for real, and you won’t like me so much then.”

“So scary,” Oksana says, in a mocking, spooked voice.

“It will be,” Eve says. “Now scram. Boss needs to take care of business.”

Oksana stands, stretches, and scoops up her bag from the floor. She strides over to the door, and just as she steps out to the sidewalk, spares a glance over her shoulder, to see if Eve is watching her. She smirks when her assumption is confirmed.

Eve doesn’t mind. She’ll be watching Oksana nonstop for the rest of her career. Putting every blink, every sneeze, twitch under a microscope. It’s best if Oksana’s aware of it from the start.

Then, Eve calls the waitress back, orders a bottle of sake, and calls Carolyn.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Eve says, skipping the hellos – her and Carolyn are familiar enough, and both so busy, that there’s no need to waste time with pleasantries. “What’s your day like?”

“If it’s news I’ll like, I can fit you in,” Carolyn replies. “If you’re going to make my life difficult, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m swamped.”

“You’ll like it.” Eve says. “I’m at Sushi Gen.”

“I’ll just tell Frank that I’ve got a lunch meeting, then,” Carolyn says. “I’ll be there in twenty. Order me some _tekka maki_.”

As Carolyn works through her sushi lunch, Eve sips sake, and excitedly informs Carolyn of her new acquisition. “I can feel it in my bones,” she says. “She’s going to be big.”

“Wonderful for you.” Carolyn says. “Why don’t you skip to the part where you ask me for a favor?”

This is why Eve get along with Carolyn; she’s always straight to the point, none of that tiresome buzzword-filled business talk necessary. “I’ll let you get in on the ground floor,” Eve says. “Sign her right away before her stock shoots up.”

“That was surely a joke, although you said it with the cadence of a normal statement.”

“I’m serious.”

Carolyn puts down her chopsticks for a moment, to stare at Eve. “You expect me to sign a fighter with absolutely zero record in mixed martial arts, sight unseen?”

“Hardly sight unseen,” Eve snorts. “She’s a gold medalist.”

“In an entirely different sport,” Carolyn says. “You’d be burning a bridge right now, if you asked that of anyone else.”

“But I’m asking you, my old friend, who knows I don’t bullshit, so you can believe me when I tell you she’s going to be the next big thing.” Eve pauses, then moderates, “No – that makes it sound like she’s going to be reaching levels others have already reached. She’s gonna blow this thing wide open. She’s gonna be the best thing to happen to Women’s MMA since Ronda Rousey.”

Carolyn waits for a moment, taking in what Eve said. “That is impressive talk.” Then she retrieves her chopsticks and dips her roll, disaffectedly.

“She’s a good fighter,” Eve says. “She can win.”

“But that’s not the most important thing, you know and I both know.”

“But she _has_ the most important thing,” Eve says, leaning her elbows onto the table. “She dazzles. I just watched her eat about fifty pieces of sushi and I couldn’t pull my goddamn eyes away.”

Carolyn’s got her most skeptical and mocking frown on, so Eve turns to the waitress who’s refilling their water glasses for support. “That woman who was with me before? Would you watch her on TV?”

The waitress gives a coy smile. “It already felt like it. She is a character.”

Eve turns back to Carolyn, with a triumphant guffaw. “And that’s lunch. I shudder to think what she’ll pull off in front of cameras and a crowd of thousands.”

Carolyn leans back in her seat and purses her mouth, fixing Eve with her classic scrutinizing stare.

“What?” Eve says. 

“I’m trying to remember the last time you described a fighter with such unequivocal praise.”

“Are you questioning my judgment? Do you think I’ve lost my touch?”

Carolyn takes a sip of her sake and stares some more. Then, finally, says, “I’ll test the climate and see if there might be room for a new face in the roster.”

“You won’t regret it,” Eve says quickly. 

“In the meantime, get her in the ring for me,” Carolyn says. “Somewhere off the beaten. If it should turn out I’m backing a flop, I’d prefer to be able to wash my hands of the whole thing discreetly.”

“Done,” Eve says. She grabs the bottle of sake, and pours a generous amount into Carolyn’s cup. “I’m telling you. This is the biggest find of both of our careers. Cheers.”

Eve can tell by Carolyn’s tired return of the toast that she doesn’t fully believe Eve yet. But as soon as Villanelle gets in the ring, Carolyn will see. And soon the rest of the world will, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent more time agonizing over sushi research than actually writing. I don't eat sushi because I'm allergic to sesame. And yet I wanted them to eat sushi. I don't know why I do this to myself. 
> 
> let me know what you think unless its sushi related bullying, i'm sorry i'm sorry
> 
> or come say hi on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	4. Breaking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Eve prepares Oksana for her first MMA fight, disagreements abound, and tensions rise.

Five AM.

Eve waits on the sidewalk outside the gym entrance, in her sweatsuit, holding her morning coffee in a travel mug. No sign of Oksana yet; oversleeping on the first day of training does not bode well…

 _Slap-slap-slap_. The sound of sneakers hitting against pavement signals an approach. Oksana, clad in a black sports bra and charcoal patterned leggings appears at the end of the block, and jogs down the way until she stops in front of Eve, catching her breath.

“Good morning.” Eve says. “You’re late.”

“Thirty seconds,” Oksana pants. Eve reaches into her bag for a chilled water bottle, and offers it to Oksana, who immediately puts it to her lips, throws her head back, and drains the entire 24-ounce bottle in one long, long sip.

“Thirty seconds matters,” Eve says, then pries the bottle from Oksana’s grip. “I expect you to make up those thirty seconds on your 10K, now.”

“I just ran over here,” Oksana says. “Over 5K from my hotel. Warmed up early especially for you.”

“And now, you’re going to run 10K because your coach told you to.” Eve smiles, and looks down at her watch. “10 kilometers, and I want you back here by 6:15. Don’t cheat. I’ll know.”

No more arguments; Oksana takes off down the street.

A great start to the week.

* * *

Six forty-five. 

Oksana emerges from the locker room, freshly showered and changed into a new ensemble, a gray sweatsuit. As she pulls her drying hair into a high ponytail, she gasps and runs over to the table by the entrance where Eve set up a breakfast spread - bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, the works.

“This is delicious,” Oksana mumbles around a mouthful of bacon. “Where is it from?”

“I made it,” Eve says.

Oksana ceases her chewing and stares.

“Of course not,” Eve admits. “It’s from Jamie’s Diner, next door. I’ve been going there for years. He gives me the old friends discount.”

Oksana nods, and reaches for the plateful of eggs.

“While you eat, I have some exciting news,” Eve says. “I’ve secured your first fight.”

“That was fast,” Oksana mumbles.

“Before you daydream too much, it’s not gonna be anything like the Fight Night you saw,” Eve says. “It’s at a small gym, hole in the wall place. Need to prove yourself on the small circuit before you can go near the big time.”

Eve expects pushback on this, but Oksana merely takes a gulp of water to wash down her eggs and nods. “When?”

“Friday,” Eve says. “We have only this week to get you prepared. So get ready for a really hard week. Even though it’s at a nowhere gym, this is your first impression as Villanelle, so we have to make it a good one.”

Eve leaves out one important detail: that Carolyn will be attending the match, and use it to decide whether or not she wants to sign Villanelle as a UFC fighter. But it’s hardly necessary to reveal, and Oksana knowing that might only throw her off, so Eve will keep it to herself for now.

“Who am I fighting?” Oksana asks.

“Another nobody.”

“Hey!”

Eve ignores the indignant interjection. “Name, Rhian Havard. Upside, she’s not so experienced, shouldn’t be too tough – in theory. Downside, there’s not much tape on her. But I greased a few elbows, reached out to a few friends and got some phone videos of her training. Not much, but we’ll study them until you’re sick. Plus, we’ll supplement with film of her friends and coaches. Everyone rubs off on the people they train with…”

Eve launches into more explanation of what the coming week will look like, while Oksana polishes off the table full of breakfast food. Then, they continue their first day of training.

First, dynamic stretches: they take to the soft mats in one corner of the room and Eve helps Oksana stretch out all her muscles to their fullest extent so she’s ready for the rest of the day’s activities. 

Next, a light sparring warmup, first on the punching bags, then with Eve donning pads and providing moving targets. After that, a long session of grappling technique, for Eve to fill in the gaps in Oksana’s arsenal of technique. 

Then, a break for a hearty lunch, followed by a full session of weight training to ensure all that bulk turns into muscle.

Finally, after dinner, they retire to the small lounge adjacent to the main gym floor, and let Oksana into whatever recovery her body needs – ice bath, foam roller, massage wand – while watching tape, with Eve providing commentary on history and strategy. The tape sessions are important not only for Eve to pass information on to Oksana, but also to teach her how to watch and learn on her own.

“With any opponent, but especially with another unknown, like this girl,” Eve explains, “you can prepare all you want, but nothing will tell you what you’re really going to see in the ring. Which is why, once the fight starts, you have to watch the tape in front of you. Hold back. Watch your opponent’s every move. Everyone’s bringing something different to the ring – are they favoring one side because they pulled a muscle earlier that day? Are they walking up to the fight pissed off from a fight with their girlfriend, so they’ll be more susceptible to taunts and feints? You can find the weaknesses if you watch the tape.”

Eve says this so many times that Oksana starts to groan every time. It doesn’t stop Eve. Some things bear repeating.

* * *

  
By the third day of this routine, Eve is pleased that Oksana’s progress is coming along rather well. She’s irked, however, at how Oksana’s spirit remains unbroken.

Perhaps it’s cruel, but Eve has learned in her many years as a coach that it’s as much her responsibility to get a fighter in a proper emotional state on fight day, as in proper physical state. One of the most important assets a fighter needs is humility, which Oksana lacks to a worrying degree.

Past lunch on Wednesday, Eve considers the dilemma before her, in the form of a capable but dangerously overconfident Russian.

Oksana is in the midst of warming herself up again after lunch, tapping lightly at the heavy bag. She’s got headphones in, and she bops to her music and mutters along under her breath. “My name is, what? My name is, who? My name is, _wika-wika_ , Oksana.”

Eve comes over and yanks out one of her earbuds, holding it up to her own ear. “Is that Eminem?”

“Yes,” Oksana says defensively, snatching the earbud back.

“No,” Eve says, as she walks away.

“You can’t tell me what music to listen to!”

“You didn’t read your contract closely, did you?” Eve tuts disapprovingly, and walks over to the counter to work on some documents.

Oksana hesitates, furrowing her brow and staring, trying to figure out if Eve is joking or not. When she finally comes to the proper conclusion, she hurls her sweat towel in Eve’s direction.

“Why does it matter?” Oksana scoffs. “It’s just my workout music.”

“It’s never _just_ workout music.” Apparently it’s time for Manager-Eve to tap in. “I know you think you’re hot shit coming off the Olympics, but we’re moving into popular media now. I promise you, you’re not prepared for the level of scrutiny you’ll be under soon. You’re never off the clock, so long as someone with a smartphone is nearby, and the last thing you want is for someone to tweet about how you listen to songs about impregnating a Spice Girl.”

“Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which Spice Girl would you impregnate?” A pause, then she adds, as if it’s a necessary clarification, “If you could.”

“The music goes, and that’s final.”

“This is pointless,” Oksana says. “I’m done.”

“No, you’re not,” Eve chuckles.

“I’m done,” Oksana repeats, rising from the bench, zipping her hoodie.

Eve ignores the antics, keeps focus on the schedule documents in front of her. “If you don’t like my rules, you can find another manager.”

“Don’t bother with the ‘my way or the highway’ speech,” Oksana says. “In three days I’ve already got it memorized.”

“Did I ever give you the false impression I’d be easy to work with?” Eve scribbles out a few lines on the schedule furiously. “No. Because I’m not a bullshitter. But I did promise you I can get you to heights no one else can.”

“Really? Because I looked up your past clients,” Oksana says. Eve keeps her eyes down, but her ears tell her that Oksana stalking closer to the counter as she continues, “I think the truth is you’re a washed up has-been who doesn’t know what’s best for fighters and lets your ego get in the way of any sort of compromise.”

Eve finally lets her gaze flick up to meet Oksana’s; she’s now reached the counter and plops her elbows down right on top of Eve’s paper, leaning forward so her face is mere inches from Eve’s.

“The truth is,” she says, in hardly more than a whisper, “you need me more than I need you.”

As they stare each other down, Eve almost expects the inches where their gazes meet to ignite, like Superman’s heat vision. Oksana’s testing the boundaries, pushing early on to see if Eve will give up any ground. It’s time to show her who she is dealing with.

“There’s the door,” Eve says, her own voice dropping low as well. “You’re free to use it anytime you like.”

Oksana stares her down. Takes a single step towards the door. Eve says nothing. Oksana reaches for her sneakers.

“Ginger Spice,” Eve says. Oksana freezes.

“Why?”

“We’d have absolutely striking babies,” Eve mutters. “Now get in the ring.”

A very calculated combination of giving her slack and pulling the leash. In spite of herself, Eve feels a prickle of fear that her usually-flawless calculations are off, and Oksana might continue out the door and never return. 

But she straightens up, undoes and redoes her hand wraps, and slowly, leisurely, climbs into the ring to join Eve.

Oksana rolls her neck and swings her arms a few times, shaking out the kinks. “At some point shouldn’t I spar with someone in my own generation? No offense.”

“When you need a new opponent, I’ll get you one,” Eve says. It’s easy to ignore the taunts now that Oksana has demonstrated her threat to leave is an impotent one.

Eve slips on her gloves, and climbs into the octagonal training ring. Though the footprint of this ring is the same as a standard UFC ring, the chain-link walls are much shorter, only about chest height. Eve steps to the opposite side of the ring and hardly drops into her stance before Oksana charges.

Eve can tell, Oksana’s pushing the limits, trying to show off, with her overly aggressive approach. A flurry of punches to force Eve to back up, concede some ground – though she’d unable to get Eve to budge outside the ring, she’s trying to reassert her control in the only way she can. 

In an even more brazen play for dominance, she attempts a high roundhouse, the same kind of kick that took Eve down in their first-ever round of sparring, during Oksana’s audition. It was foolish then, and it’s foolish now. Time for a lesson.

Eve catches her foot in midair, and wraps both arms around Oksana’s leg, propping it up above her shoulder. Oksana grunts as Eve yanks her leg up higher than it wants to go, forcing it into a joint lock, cutting off her bloodstream. She holds tight for a second, until a cry of pain escapes Oksana’s gritted teeth, then uses the leverage to flip Oksana onto the mat so she falls on her back, hard.

“First lesson for today,” Eve pants, standing over Oksana’s supine body. “Don’t do _that_.”

Oksana remains flat, panting. “You let me get you, before?”

“I’m not the type to let someone win out of pity,” Eve says, then reaches down, offering her hand.

Oksana takes it, and gets back to her feet. “I didn’t say you let me win. I said you let me get one kick in. I would have won anyways.”

* * *

  
Thursday evening. Recovery time.

The back-and-forth between Eve and Oksana mostly abated as they focused on the work on Thursday. As a result, Oksana made great progress, and though Eve was tempted to push even further, she ended the workout a bit earlier than usual to allow Oksana’s body to recover more fully before tomorrow. But while her body rests, her brain can work, so Eve sets up for one final, extra-long film study session.

Oksana sits sprawled on the couch in the lounge and groans, massaging her calf. “I think I pulled it.”

“Was it the turtle?” 

“No, I think it was when you had me in side control,” Oksana says.

“Let’s fix that.” Eve goes to the cabinet and takes out a massage wand. She puts on some fights on the TV, but doesn’t pay much attention. She kneels next to the couch, turns on the wand to its strongest setting and presses it against Oksana’s outstretched calf.

“Funny how vibrators work so well for this,” Oksana giggles.

“It’s not a vibrator.”

“Magic Wand,” Oksana says, dripping with condescension. “Come on, Eve. There’s no way you don’t know.”

“Hitachi designed it as a personal massager,” Eve says. “And it’s very good at its intended purpose. So what if it also happens to be good at other things?”

Oksana giggles, but then the conversation abates. The announcer on the tape goes on in the background, though his words are barely audible over the hum of the massager as Eve runs it up and down Oksana’s leg.

After a minute, Oksana lets her eyes fall shut, and sighs into it. Suddenly, Eve grows uncomfortable, which is odd; this is an incredibly normal routine for coach and client, not to mention the fact that they’ve had near-constant physical contact in about a dozen other different ways all week long. She can’t put her finger on why. She hits the switch on the base of the wand so the buzzing dies down. “Better?”

“Mmm,” Oksana mumbles in a vaguely affirmative tone. Eve goes to put the wand away, and turns up the volume on the video.

“Come,” Oksana says, patting the arm of the couch.

“You’re taking up the whole thing.”

Oksana rolls her eyes, then shifts so she’s lying diagonally across two-thirds of the couch, rather than the whole thing. Eve doesn’t bother to press further and carefully places herself in the small corner of free cushion. 

Eve tries to focus on the fight, so she can commentate, but the truth is, she’s exhausted from the week as well, and can hardly form the words. _This is bad_ , she tells herself. Bad because she needs to make the most of every moment they have for instruction, with Villanelle’s MMA debut in almost exactly twenty-four hours, but also bad because her plan to break Oksana’s haughtiness more-or-less failed. If anything, she’s only been emboldened over the past four days, if the way she kicks at Eve’s legs playfully is any indication.

“I know it’s only been a week,” Oksana says, “But you are already better than Konstantin.”

“Really.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you are a real bitch with the training, but he would never watch movies with me, even when I begged him.”

It’s worse than Eve thought. She’d tried her hardest to break Oksana down, and she’s coming off _softer_ than Oksana's last coach? Clearly, she needs to reassert her authority. 

“They aren’t movies,” she snaps. “It’s important and you need to pay attention unless you want to embarrass yourself tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Oksana says, with mock offense. “Sorry, it’s hard to focus. Usually, movie night with a hot lady comes with the promise of sex afterward.”

That’s it.

Eve gets up, not caring that she has to shove Oksana’s legs out of the way in the process. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out. You aren’t taking this seriously, so I am not going to waste my time teaching you.”

“Relax,” Oksana says. “You can’t take a joke at the end of a long day?”

“I can’t take my client who’s constantly disrespecting me and my work, acting like she doesn’t have a very important fight to prepare for tomorrow.”

“It was a joke,” Oksana mutters. “And what’s the big deal? It’s one fight against a nobody in the middle of nowhere. It isn’t the Olympics,” she says, mocking Eve’s tone when she’d constantly remind Oksana of that same fact.

“It’s important,” Eve snaps. “And frankly, I don’t think you’re ready. I’m going to call it off.”

Once the threat escapes Eve’s lips, she regrets it – not because of hurting Oksana’s feelings, but because she doesn’t like to make threats she isn’t committed to following through. Oksana falls silent. The announcer on the video drones on excitedly in the background, entirely unsuitable for the mood between the live people in the room.

Oksana straightens herself up to sit properly on the couch. “Don’t do that.”

“Convince me I shouldn’t.”

Then the room flips upside down. Before Eve can react, Oksana tackles her to the carpeted floor and brings her into a mount, sitting atop her chest. Eve instinctively throws her arms over her face to protect herself, before she can even spare a thought about what Oksana is possibly thinking, trying to fight her when neither of them have gloves, and they’re not on the mats, and there’s furniture all around that could give either of them a concussion if their heads should hit against it…

But thankfully Oksana doesn’t go for any strikes with her ungloved hands, she instead tries to grab and pin Eve’s arms. “Say the fight is on.”

Eve remains silent as she wrestles for control, grappling with her legs against Oksana’s torso to try to gain leverage.

“Say it.” Oksana presses her weight backwards to pin Eve’s legs, while at the same time pulling her arms away from her face. Eve fights her hardest, but despite her efforts, Oksana manages to pry her right arm free and pull it into an armbar. Eve gasps in pain and frantically taps Oksana’s shoulder to indicate submission.

“It’s on,” Eve says, as Oksana releases her arm, allowing the blood to flow free, with a surge of simultaneously relief and pain. 

“Good.” 

Oksana’s eyes are dark as she sits atop Eve’s chest. She doesn’t move for a minute or so. When she finally rises, she walks right out the door. Eve doesn’t try to stop her.

Best to call it a night.

* * *

Friday, fight day, is different.

First of all, Oksana is allowed to sleep in. Eve doesn’t call her for the first warmup of the day until eight-thirty, which may not seem late by a normal person’s standards, but after a week of waking up before dawn to kick things off with a 10K, it’s downright leisurely.

They hold a light workout before lunch, and hardly speak a word to each other. It seems they’ve both independently come to the conclusion that there’s nothing to say about last night that wouldn’t ignite another argument, and jeopardize the outcome of tonight’s fight. Eve, for her part, is at her absolute wit’s end, and doesn’t know what else she can possibly do with Oksana, short of giving up on her, but she hates giving up more than anything. So, no apologies, no debriefing, but it’s apparent from the way the air hangs thick with tension that neither forgot what happened in the lounge last night.

After an hour or so of light sparring, Eve sets Oksana free.

They’ve been together every waking moment for the week, except when Oksana was showering or shitting, so giving her a break is the kindest gift Eve can give Oksana. If Eve’s being honest, it’s a gift for herself, too.

So for most of the day, Eve returns to her apartment, and tries very, very hard not to think about what Oksana is doing. Is she eating a proper lunch? Is she hydrating enough? Is she staying safe and resting her body or doing something reckless that might injure her?

To try to put an end to those thoughts, Eve puts on AC/DC on the bluetooth speakers in her apartment, draws a hot bath, and sinks into it. She then tucks herself into her silk sheets, with the music still blasting, and waits perfectly still until she falls asleep with the music drowning all thoughts from her head.

She manages to successfully nap until five thirty, when it’s appropriate to finally drive over to the venue. The nerves have returned, and while she curses in traffic, she’s plagued with worried that Oksana will show up late, or not at all.

When she finally arrives, she hurries out of the car, breezes through the entrance with only a small wave to the organizers, and heads right for the locker room. She lets out a huge sigh of relief when she sees Oksana already seated on one of the benches, clad in her fight attire, a black-and-orange tie dyed sports bra with shorts to match.

“Good, you’re here, and dressed,” Eve says. “Elena will be here in a few minutes to do your hair.”

“It’s done,” Oksana says. 

Eve simply stares at Oksana with her high ponytail. 

“I’m not wearing cornrows like those other girls,” Oksana protests. “I will look ridiculous.”

“You have to.”

“You’re always talking about ‘image’,” Oksana says. “I care how I look. Hair pulling isn’t allowed anyway.”

“Suit yourself.” This isn’t a battle worth having right now.

Eve pulls Oksana over into the other room of the gym which has been set aside for warm-ups. She leads a cursory set of stretches and drills, though it’s more for mental preparation than anything else. She needs to get Oksana into the proper headspace. 

As she moves the pads around, she wonders, ought she to say anything about last night? But Eve knows herself: if she opens her mouth, all that will come out is a expletive-filled lecture about how insane, dangerous, and immature it was for Oksana to pull that stunt, and while she’d be justified in doing so, it won’t put her in a better position for the fight. So she keeps silent while Oksana taps at the pads and practices her footwork.

“Too much,” Oksana says.

“What?” Eve drops the pads, confused; she wasn’t moving them particularly much.

“Last night,” Oksana says. “It was too much. I should not have.”

Not an apology. But it’s more than Eve expected.

Eve takes off the pads, and tosses them away. It’s eight-forty-five, almost fight time; she can’t stay back here much longer. “Remember, don’t start out on the offensive. Let her lead. Watch the tape.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oksana mumbles. But underneath her annoyance is a whiff of affection. 

“Get out there and show them who you are. Who Villanelle is.” Eve puts a hand on Oksana’s shoulder and squeezes. After a week of playing bad-coach to the extreme, this small gesture of support goes a long way, and Oksana seems to inflate a bit before Eve’s eyes.

“I want a Cinnabon,” she says. “More than anything.”

“Sure,” Eve says. “If you win.”

“When I win.”

Eve smiles, and nods. She leaves the locker room and returns to the main gym, taking her seat in the back row of the sea of folding chairs set up for the audience. Carolyn is there, looking as inconspicuous as she can, though the quality of her designer coat and her effortless air of importance are undeniable, even in this unassuming setting. 

“I so seldom find occasion to come out to smaller gyms,” Carolyn says, then holds up her clear plastic cup. “Gin and tonic. Incredible, the service at these places.” She reaches over to the small table next to her, and hands a second, identical cup to Eve.

“Get ready to sit back and enjoy,” Eve says. She imbues her tone with confidence, but truthfully, there’s a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. She did everything she could to prepare Oksana for tonight, between the physical training, the intellectual strategy, and the emotional insulation. There’s no reason Oksana shouldn’t walk out and take out this nobody with ease.

And yet, Eve drains her gin and tonic with remarkable speed until only ice remains. She won’t be comfortable until she has that UFC contract in hand.

The lights dim, and the announcer walks out into the ring with his microphone wired into the cheap sound system. “Good evening, fans,” he bellows, in a drawn-out exaggerated showy voice mimicking Bruce Buffer, the veteran announcer for all UFC fights. “Get ready for a match that will blow! Your! Minds! In this corner, fresh off three wins in various locales around the world, we have the Welsh Wonder, Rhian Havard!”

The opponent Eve watched all week on shaky iPhone footage emerges from the locker room and climbs into the ring, accompanied by a music cue of what sounds like it must be a classical Welsh folk song. Her hair is braided in tight rows. She shows absolutely no emotion as she steps into the ring, apparently trying to ignore the crowd.

“And facing off, we have a total newcomer. In her mixed martial arts debut, we have the mysterious, the inscrutable, the one-name… Villanelle.”

The music shifts, not into the inoffensive pop beat that Eve approved for Villanelle’s walkout music, but rather into the cheerful beat of Eminem’s “My Name Is”. Eve curses under her breath. Oksana must’ve gone and talked to the DJ on her own, just to piss Eve off. She crushes her empty plastic cup. 

Carolyn notices. “Already off to a bad start, are we.”

“It’s fine. She’s fine,” Eve says, reassuring herself more than Carolyn.

But her anger is overtaken by nerves again, as Oksana walks out from the locker room. Unlike her opponent, she immediately takes in the crowd. Her eyes scan the room, taking in every individual, until they briefly make contact with Eve. She winks. Eve glares: focus on the fight. Oksana saunters into the ring, and there’s nothing more Eve can do but watch, as Oksana debriefs with the referee.

The fighters separate. The referee steps back, asks if they are ready. Then motions for them to start. They dart together, tap hands, then begin shuffling, and circling.

As advised, Oksana starts slow…ish.

She holds back for about ten seconds, and lets Rhian strike first, as she promised Eve she would. But after Rhian’s simple jabs to test the reach, Oksana lets loose an onslaught. Eve must bite her lip to keep from screaming, “No”, as Oksana drives forward and lets a flurry of punches, which land with audible _thuds_ even as Rhian raises her arms to block them.

Noise builds in the audience as Oksana lands punch after punch, and Eve almost gets caught up in it, until her worst fear comes to pass: Oksana reaches out for a huge cross, and Rhian sidesteps the blow, grabs Oksana’s outstretched arm, and twists it to take her down to the mat.

Gasps erupt as Rhian climbs on top of Oksana, knees on either side of her, hands pinning her arms to prevent a counterattack. Luckily, Oksana remembers what Eve taught her to do in this situation, and wraps her legs around Rhian’s torso, keeping some control and leverage even from her position on the bottom. But for some reason, she remains pinned, she isn’t completing the escape…

With horror, Eve realizes that Rhian’s knee ended up on top of Oksana’s ponytail on the mat, effectively keeping her chained down so she can’t lift her head. Eve leaps out of her seat and screams at the ref, “Foul!”

It’s unprofessional, she knows, and she’d never pull such a stunt at a pro match, but she can’t stand seeing this amateur ref let such a move slide.

Perhaps the referee doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t realize who she is, but he does nothing. In spite of Oksana’s legs trying to press Rhian away, she’s stuck, and Rhian uses the window to sink several hard blows right in Oksana’s face. Red appears. 

Finally, the ref steps in, not to call a foul, but because the round is over.

Eve climbs into the ring, falling upon the ref immediately. “Her knee was on my girl’s hair,” Eve shouts. “That’s got to count as hair pulling.”

“I couldn’t see,” the ref says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Let me get you my glasses, then.”

“Get out of here,” the ref commands. “Thirty seconds. Be with your fighter.”

Still fuming, Eve’s utilitarian side kicks in and she realizes more headway can be made as a supportive coach than as a vengeful one right now, so she retreats into the corner of the ring where Oksana is sitting on a small folding chair with her head thrown back, pouring water down her throat while an aide furiously presses gauze to her nose to mop up the gusher of blood.

“I won’t say it now, but you’re in for a big ‘I told you so’ later,” Eve says.

“You just said it.”

“Bigger than that.” Eve doesn’t bother asking how Oksana feels. How she feels is not so much relevant as whether or not the doctor clears her to continue. The medic takes a quick assessment of Oksana’s face, checking the size and movement of her pupils, then nods. She’s bloody, but she’s fine.

Eve wants to say something more, but she’s already being ushered back out of the ring. She digs her nails into her palm and bites the inside of her cheek, as the referee gathers the fighters, and makes sure they are ready for the second round.

As soon as he gives the signal, Oksana charges. She takes Rhian down to the ground and unleashes an onslaught of punches. Barely-cushioned blows from an Olympic boxer. She seems to be running on pure fury, and in no more than fifteen seconds, Rhian is tapping the mat, and the ref steps in to pull Oksana off, and declare her the victor by submission.

The room fills with whoops and hollers as she small crowd bursts out in cheers. Other than the small entourage that came with Rhian, everyone else in the seats jumps to their feet, clapping and whooping wildly. The announcer steps back into the ring, takes Oksana’s hand and raises it high. “Your winner is Villanelle!” 

Oksana grins madly, and some of the blood pouring from her nose pools in the dip above her lip. She pumps her fist in the air, then, cheekily, bows for the crowd. 

Eve turns to Carolyn. “So?”

“I don’t know how, but you’ve done it once again,” Carolyn says. “A rare talent.”

“She’s a beast.”

“I wasn’t referring to…” then Carolyn adjusts her glance to address the victorious fighter, who has emerged from the ring and is approaching them. “Villanelle,” she says. “Ferociously done.”

Eve leaps in. “Villanelle, this is Carolyn Martens, head of the women’s division of the UFC.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Carolyn says. She offers her hand. Oksana wipes her right glove on the towel slung over her shoulder, then shakes it. 

“What an exciting meeting,” Oksana says.

“Great news,” Eve says. “Carolyn wants to sign you for the UFC.”

“After one fight?” Oksana says, cocking an eyebrow. “I know I am good, but I did not know I am _that_ good.”

“You know it,” Carolyn says. “And that’s a part of your draw, which I’m sure you’re aware of as well.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Eve says. “Electric.”

“I’ll have the contract drawn up, and you can come by my office in the morning to sign.” Carolyn gets a hungry glint in her eye, not unlike the look Eve’s seen on herself in the mirror, or indeed in Oksana’s eye. Now that she has a stake in their success, she’s practically drooling at the prospects. “Eve, I must sincerely thank you for asking me to come. I think Villanelle is just the dash of spice our roster needs.”

She bids them farewell, and Eve can’t keep herself from pumping her fist in excitement. “Step one done,” she says. “We can be proud, a little, but it’s only going to get harder from here, so…”

Eve trails off. Oksana has gone reserved, dropped her wide smile. All at once, she looks exhausted, and slumps down in Carolyn’s seat. She twitches her nose, and a trickle of fresh blood begins to drip down.

“Hold still,” Eve says, sitting back down next to her client. She takes the towel off of Oksana’s shoulder, bunches it up, and gently presses it against her face to stem the flow of blood. “We’ll get you cleaned up and then, we can celebrate.”

“You lied to me,” Oksana says, staring off at the floor, unfocused. “You said this was a nothing fight with a nobody.”

“I didn’t lie,” Eve says, trying to keep her tone calm and soothing. “I selectively withheld information.”

“That is lying.”

“Will you hold still so I can clean you up?”

Oksana swats Eve’s hand away, knocking the soiled towel to the floor. She stands, grabs her water bottle from the table, and begins walking towards the crowd milling about the exit.

“Where are you going?” Eve calls.

“To the door,” Oksana says, without turning.

“You’re not serious,” Eve says, though a nervous laugh escapes.

Oksana stops, but doesn’t turn. The leash has caught. But rather than triumph at how well she’s trained the fighter in a week’s time, Eve feels something hollow. Though it goes against every cell in her body, she stands, and goes after Oksana. Walks right up to her, and rests a hand on her shoulder, still slick with sweat.

A few breaths, which Eve can feel in the rise and fall of Oksana’s shoulder blades. Then, finally, she turns.

“I don’t like to be managed that way,” she says, with none of the rebellious bite she had earlier in the week. No demonstration of power, merely an honest statement.

Eve can’t deny such a simple, honest request, especially when it’s a fair one. Especially after Oksana won the fight, and handled the unexpected meeting with Carolyn so well, keeping her emotions controlled until Carolyn was gone. “Okay,” Eve says.

“I am not a nervous child,” Oksana says, though ironically, she sounds more childlike than ever in her soft, high tone.

“I know that now,” Eve says. “Learning curve. For both of us.”

She’s making excuses. She hears it. With great effort, Eve swallows her pride, and adds, “I’m sorry.”

Oksana accepts this silently, and begins shuffling back in the direction of the locker room.

“While you’re in there, I’m gonna look up what’s still open,” Eve shouts after her. “I hope you aren’t too mad to go get a Cinnabon.”

“I want three,” Oksana shouts back as she disappears down the hallway.

Three Cinnabons. That seems fair. Eve might get one for herself, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realism? never heard of it. sexy punching and Eminem are all I know
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) where I post silly things when I'm not depressed xoxo


	5. Pulling Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve prepares Oksana for her UFC debut, and the attention that comes along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, please be advised, I've added a trigger warning for discussion of food/dieting/gaining and losing weight, in an athletic context. It's not crazy present but it's there, as a warning. Also, don't try any of this at home.

“Sheesh,” Eve says, as she stares out the floor-to-ceiling window at the beautiful expanse of the Los Angeles skyline. “What do I have to do to get an office this nice?”

“Lick the boots of entirely unqualified men whilst pretending you couldn’t do their job better than them for thirty-some years, until you scrape out a position of some importance within their world,” Carolyn says. “Bottled water?”

“Sure,” Eve says.

“Kenny,” Carolyn calls out, raising her voice only slightly, but evidently it carries, for a few moments later, a pallid, brown-haired young man pops through the office door, holding two chilled bottles of water.

“Thanks,” Eve says, as she takes hers. Kenny merely nods, and ducks back out into the hallway. Once he’s gone, Eve chuckles, “More perks of the position, I guess.”

“Yes,” Carolyn says. “Back to business. Now that Villanelle has officially signed with UFC, I’m happy to report there’s an opening in her weight class, so I can match her up at the next Fight Night, in two weeks.”

“Really?” Eve says, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.

“Provided you feel she’s ready.”

“Yes,” Eve jumps in. “We’ll take it. Of course.” Two weeks is sooner than she expected for Villanelle’s debut, but there’s no time to waste, and no reason to turn down the opportunity. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me too much,” Carolyn says as she settles in her luxurious leather desk chair. “In return, I have a small favor to ask. Kenny…”

At the sound of his name, Kenny reappears in the doorway, waiting for further orders.

“Kenny’s interested in what you do,” Carolyn says, folding her hands on her desk.

“Managing? Or coaching?” Eve asks.

“Both, so help him,” Carolyn says. “I was wondering if you could let him shadow you, be an assistant of sorts. Perhaps watching you in your chaos will dissuade him from this insane notion, or at least help him choose between the two.”

Kenny turns to Eve, and mumbles, “I think what you do is quite revolutionary. I don’t think it’s insane at all.”

“Oh, but it is,” Eve laughs. “That’s fine though. Could use an extra set of hands, because my current client is a handful and a half. C’mon, I’m going to meet her now.”

“You want me to come?” Kenny say. “Right now?”

“Unless you have something better to do.”

Kenny glances at Carolyn for approval, then follows Eve down the hallway, into the elevator, then out to the parking garage. He’s oddly silent, like a shadow, and Eve has to look back a few times to make sure he’s still there behind her.

As they get on the road back to Eve’s gym, Kenny finally speaks again. “Sorry about this,” he starts. “So sudden. I just asked Mum if she might be able to put me in contact with you, I didn’t mean for her to make it an order…”

Eve almost doesn’t spot another car changing lanes and has to swerve to avoid it. “Wait, Carolyn’s your mum?” she chokes.

“Um. Yes.” Kenny’s pallor begins to turn to blush. “She didn’t tell you?”

“I thought you were her assistant,” Eve says. “Didn’t know she had the time for kids.”

“She doesn’t, really.”

As Eve merges onto the highway, she sighs as they end up in the middle of midday traffic. “While we’re stuck here, I can give you your first job as my assistant. If you’re up for it.”

“Of course,” Kenny says. As they come to a stop in traffic, Eve glances over at him. He looks halfway confident.

“Grab my phone from my bag,” Eve nods to where her purse is strewn in the backseat. “There’s a video on there of my client’s first fight at a small gym this past week.”

“What’s your passcode?” Kenny asks, with a grunt, as he leans over the seat to retrieve the phone. 

“One, two, three, four,” Eve says. Before Kenny can comment, she snaps, “I’m busy; I don’t have time to remember another stupid password.”

“Right, I’m in,” Kenny says, while Eve switches lanes to pass a slow minivan. “Wow, this fight…” he says as he plays the video. “She’s something.”

“That’s Villanelle,” Eve says. “That’s her name in the ring, anyway. To you, she’ll be Oksana. But I want you to take that video, and post it to YouTube under an anonymous, inconspicuous account. Act like you’re a random spectator at the fight, and you’re posting it because it was just so thrilling. Get some buzz going - ‘who is this girl? Where did she come from?’ Bonus points if you can get some other accounts to start commenting on it and sharing it across platforms.”

“Wow,” Kenny says. “That’s a lot.”

“Too much?” Eve asks. “I can slow down and give you something simpler to start with…”

“No,” Kenny says. “I just didn’t realize that management also included being so sneaky.”

“Not usually,” Eve says. “I wouldn’t use this tactic for a typical client. But Oksana, as you’ll see soon, demands some… special treatment.”

* * *

“Eve,” Oksana squeals with delight. “You brought something new today.”

As soon as they enter the gym, Oksana stalks over to examine the new arrival. She looks Kenny up and down, eyeing him with interest. He seems to shrink under her gaze.

“This is Kenny,” Eve says. “My new assistant. Anything he tells you to do, you do it, just like if I said it.” A bold command, though Eve does not think Kenny is likely to abuse any authority over Oksana, nor does she think Oksana is likely to listen to Kenny. “Kenny, meet my client, Oksana Astankova.”

“Gold medalist, to you,” Oksana says. “But you can call me Villanelle.”

Eve dismisses Kenny to work more on building internet buzz, while she pulls Oksana over to the lounge to give her the news.

“Two weeks from Friday, you’ll be in your first official UFC match,” Eve says. “How does that make you feel?”

“Impatient,” Oksana says. “Let’s make it tomorrow instead.”

Eve bites her tongue, but at least Oksana isn’t upset at the speed this has all developed; instead, she’s champing at the bit.

“Your opponent this time is a bit more experienced,” Eve says. She pulls out her tablet, and shows Oksana her opponent’s UFC profile. “Gemma Pierson. Also relatively new to the roster; two wins and one loss to her name. At least in this case we’ll have more high-quality film to study, but don’t be fooled, this fight _will_ be tougher than your last one.”

Oksana pulls the tablet closer and leans in, studying the page closely. Eve wonders if she’s looking over the fighter’s stats, or her biography. When Oksana finally speaks, it’s slow and deliberate. “Her breasts are enormous.”

Eve glances down at the picture of the fighter. Brunette, cheerier than most MMA fighters, and indeed, considerably well-endowed despite her petite frame.

“Like built in airbags,” Oksana continues. “I wouldn’t even know where to start with her.”

“Can you focus?” Eve snaps in front of Oksana’s face, making her blink and look up from the screen. 

“I’m not kidding Eve; it’s a serious concern. I’ve never seen a fighter with tits like that,” Oksana says, shell-shocked. “People tell me _mine_ are too big for this sport. Those must put her up a weight class on their own.”

Eve looks at the photo again. She tries to come up with a solid rebuttal.

“Forget it,” she says. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

* * *

“I know she looks cute as a button,” Eve says, during one of their nightly film sessions. “But that’s how she gets people. Look, over and over, that’s how she wins – she baits the approach, waits for an opening to take you to the mat, then finishes you off with elbow strikes or a choke.”

Oksana rolls her eyes, as usual, while Kenny dutifully jots down notes.

Eve is grateful to have Kenny around, not only to have someone to handle menial tasks, but also for the fact that having a third wheel in the room diffuses the odd tension that had clouded their training sessions and film nights when it was only Eve and Oksana. If Kenny sitting there as a mostly-silent witness is what it takes to keep Oksana from pulling another stunt like she did the night before her fight with Rhian, then Eve is happy to keep him around forever.

Indeed, Kenny’s presence helps in more ways than Eve could’ve anticipated. Oksana loves nothing more than performing for an audience, so having Kenny’s eyes on their sparring sessions actually produces her best work, as she expends her energy on fighting, for once, rather than trying to get under Eve’s skin. 

Also, it doesn’t hurt to have someone else in the room who actually listens when Eve tells him to do something. It sets a positive example for Oksana to follow. Even if she still manages to resist every simple suggestion, it takes fewer back-and-forths to get her to give in, now that Eve has the ability to demonstrate her authority by snapping at Kenny. (She always apologizes, later, when Oksana’s out of the room.)

Between breakfasts from Jamie’s, sparring drills with a rotating cast of Eve’s friends and colleagues, and film sessions sat three on the couch, two weeks pass in the blink of an eye.

* * *

They fly out to Las Vegas the day before the fight, for the weigh-in.

The arena lobby buzzes with people, as one by one, all of the fighters on the card for tomorrow step up for their turn to be weighed, and in the case of the more highly-anticipated matchups, also face off with their opponents in front of the press, and exchange some intimidating one-liners to build anticipation for their face-offs.

Eve, Oksana, and Kenny stand in a loose clump, away from the main crowd. Oksana looks at the flashing cameras, the splashy advertisements plastered on every surface, and the posing, flexing fighters with awe. “I’ve been all over the world,” she says as she stares, “and I have no say, no place is quite like America.”

“Look,” Eve nudges Oksana. “Over there. Your opponent has arrived.”

She directs Oksana’s attention over to the other side of the room, where the small, perky brunette they’ve been watching all week walks in. She’s giggling at something one of her trainers said, and the high-pitched sound cuts through all the chatter in the room, and gives Eve the sudden urge to go over and slap her. She unzips her windbreaker in preparation for the weigh-in, so she’s down to her sports bra.

“Her tits look even bigger in person,” Oksana murmurs. “Do you think she got them enhanced since those videos were taken?”

“From this moment on,” Eve hisses, “I do not want to hear one more word about her goddamn tits. Is that clear?”

“Crabby,” Oksana says, miffed. “You’d think _you_ are the one who has hardly had food or water all day. Yet here I am, in good spirits.”

Eve isn’t particularly worried about the weigh-in. One of the upsides of Oksana being a veteran in another sport separate by weight classes is she already understands the drill. She didn’t need Eve to remind her to go low-carb, low-salt all week, or to shed some water weight day-of to make sure she’s within the allowed one-pound margin of error the day before the fight. 

When Oksana’s name is called, she pulls her t-shirt over her head and tosses it at Eve, before strutting off. Eve hands the shirt off to Kenny. Oksana steps up to the scale, and straightens her posture. The attendant fusses with the balance, then announces into the mic, “One-thirty six!” Oksana flexes her biceps, flashes a grin to the camera, then steps off to rejoin Eve.

Then, it’s Gemma’s turn. As she steps onto the scale, Oksana whispers to Eve, “Just watch. Those tits will put her over…”

But a moment later, the attendant reads, “One thirty-five point five.” Oksana has nothing to say to that.

Then, Oksana and Gemma are ushered over to a logo-splashed backdrop to pose, fists up, facing off, for promotional photos.

Eve watches from a distance as Oksana offers her hand for Gemma to shake. Gemma takes it in both of hers and shakes enthusiastically, more effervescent than any human ought to be. She leans in, and says something, that makes Oksana whisper back furiously. Gemma blushes and laughs, then they break apart.

Before Eve can reunite with Oksana, an interviewer swoops in and pulls her aside. _No,_ Eve thinks. _Why is he bothering with her?_ The press usually don’t bother interviewing any fighters except those in the main event. 

Eve didn’t prep her for this. She debates jumping in and sweeping Oksana away with some excuse, but on the other hand, all press is good press, and she can’t turn down the chance to build hype. Still, Eve pulls at a pen from her pocket and starts clicking it furiously, just for a physical outlet for her stress.

“It seems you exchanged some words with your opponent. What did you say?” The interviewer then offers the microphone to Oksana.

Oksana nods. “She said, ‘Good luck’. Then, I asked her if it helps with her training, to always be carrying around those weights on her chest.”

The interviewer is dumbstruck, then starts laughing nervously, like he just got the joke. He thanks Oksana and wishes her luck.

Eve squeezes the pen a bit too hard and the plastic cracks.

“What’s wrong?” Oksana asks as she rejoins Eve.

“Let’s go check into our rooms.”

* * *

On fight day, they head out for an early workout, then spend most of the day in the hotel, for recovery and mental preparation. Eve sends Kenny out to get food, for Oksana has to eat as much as she can to pack weight back on before the fight.

After breakfast, second breakfast, and lunch are spent talking fight strategy to the point of exhaustion, Eve stretches out on the chair in Oksana’s hotel room. “Time to switch gears. We’re going to do some interview practice, because you need it.”

“I thought I did great yesterday,” Oksana says, while she munches on some almonds from a tin.

“It’s my own fault not for prepping you sooner,” Eve says. “I wasn’t expecting much press attention since you’re a newcomer, but after that unexpected little swoop-in yesterday, I’m not taking any chances. We are gonna train you for any interview eventuality.”

“So, he reads the questions, and I answer? That’s it?” Oksana’s tone is deadly dry, as if she sees no purpose in the exercise.

“That’s where we’ll start,” Eve says. “And I will critique.” She turns to Kenny, and nods for him to proceed.

Kenny looks down at his phone, reading off the list of sample questions Eve typed up for him. He fumbles, speaking in a stilted manner, clearly not used to this tiny bit of spotlight. “How did you get started with fighting?”

“I got in trouble when I was young for fighting my schoolmates,” Oksana says. “If they messed with me, they got what was coming to them. Some got really hurt. After one boy ended up in the hospital, when I was twelve, I was going to be sent to a juvenile detention center, but that’s where my first coach, Konstantin, came in. He saw potential in me so he got the judge to agree not to send me away, if I went and trained with him. Then I was competing in national youth championships by the next year…”

“Okay, no,” Eve jumps in, cutting Oksana off. “First off, nix the hospitalizations, and don’t mention the juvie part. Start with Konstantin seeing the potential.”

“How would he see my potential if I wasn’t beating other kids senseless at school?”

“Say he’s your surrogate uncle, family friend, whatever,” Eve improvises, “and he saw you get into harmless playful tussles at the family barbecue.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“That’s palatable,” Eve corrects her. “And that’s your new origin story, so get used to it.”

Oksana whines, “But–”

“Next question.” Eve points at Kenny.

“Tell us about why you moved from Russia to France,” Kenny reads in his monotone.

“Because Russia is a corrupt state clinging to the shadows of its former Soviet glory,” Oksana says, not missing a beat.

“Nope.” Eve shakes her head. “Too political.” At Oksana’s indignant look, she adds, “You may be right, but it’s too inflammatory.”

Oksana groans. “So, what? I say, I wanted to be closer to the Louvre?”

“Great start,” Eve says. “Go on.”

“Why don’t you just write out my new life story for me if you want me to lie in every single answer?” Oksana snaps.

“Believe me,” Eve replies, “If I thought I could write a story that would get you to the top, I would. But people can smell bullshit a mile away. We need to start from a place of truth. I don’t believe in completely erasing what makes you, _you_.”

For a moment, Oksana softens. 

“But I _am_ a firm believer in judicious editing,” Eve adds. “Try again.”

“You try changing your whole life story to sound nice,” Oksana says. “I don’t think you’d like it.”

“It’s not hard,” Eve replies. “Try me.” Part of being a coach, after all: sometimes she needs to demonstrate proper technique. 

Kenny looks over at Eve, confused about his role in this endeavor, but she shrugs him off. Let Oksana play whatever games she wants, so Eve can show it isn’t so hard to be in the hot seat, and she needn’t be so dramatic.

Oksana shifts on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and leaning forward, mimicking an interviewer. “Tell me, Ms. Polastri, how did you get into this line of work?”

“I always had an interest and focus in martial arts from a young age; I found both an athletic and intellectual pleasure in studying different disciplines. As I got older, I saw an opportunity to forge a path as a woman in the largely male-dominated field of coaching, and I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

So there. PR-speak might as well be Eve’s native language. If Oksana is waiting for her to slip up, she’ll be waiting a long time.

“So you started as a fighter?” Oksana asks.

“When I was younger, yes.”

“And you weren’t good enough, so you switched to coaching.”

The bait is so obvious. Eve presses her lips together. “I found a new joy in exercising skills beyond the physical.”

“Ahhhh,” Oksana says in exaggerated marvel. “You sound very dedicated to your work. I hope you still have time for your personal life. Are you married?”

“No,” Eve says. Which Oksana already knows, obviously; she made it her priority a bit too early on to ask about Eve’s relationship status.

“Not anymore, you mean.” Oksana has a devilish glint in her eye. Clearly she’s been poking around in Eve’s past.

Eve takes a deep breath. “I was with my husband for five years, before we separated.”

“What a shame,” Oksana says with mock concern. “Was it tragic?”

Despite herself, Eve feels her pulse rising. No matter what, she will _not_ lose her cool; she will teach Oksana how it’s done.

“Though we enjoyed our time together, we found that we wanted different things out of life, so we parted peacefully.” Judicious editing indeed, for Eve’s divorce with Niko had involved countless spats, more than a few instances of name-calling, and a heated battle in court which she tries daily to forget.

“Whose idea?”

“Pardon?”

“Who asked for the divorce.”

Eve swallows, steadies herself. “He did.”

Oksana’s face is painted with sick glee, now. “Was that due to your obsessive focus on your work, or did he simply grow sick of your personality?”

The heat is rising. The fire deep in Eve’s stomach rages, and the smoke builds and builds; in spite of all of her efforts, it will fly free if Eve opens her mouth. Oksana, meanwhile, looks incredibly pleased with herself, smirking, daring Eve to blow up.

“Um, it’s nearly five. We’d better get going if we want to make it to the venue.”

Eve starts at the sound of Kenny’s voice. She had completely forgotten he was in the room.

“Yes,” she says. “Time to move.”

_Thank God._

* * *

Once they arrive at the venue, and Oksana suits up in her fight outfit, she sits on a bench in the locker room while Eve gets to work on her hair. After the ponytail nightmare in her first fight, she consented to wear French braids in all future fights – but only if Eve did the braids herself. A silly condition which proved to be such a sticking point that Eve threw up her hands and agreed to it. But if she’s going to serve as hairdresser as well as coach, she’s going to deliver a lecture while her hands work the plaits in Oksana’s golden hair.

“Be careful,” Eve advises. “Watch out for the elbows. Make her come to you. You control the reach, so there’s no reason you should have to go out of your way to get a hit in. Let her do the hard work, then punish.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oksana mutters. Eve finishes the second braid and ties it off with an elastic. Oksana stands, looks at it from all angles in the mirror, then smirks approvingly.

Oksana’s fight is only second on the schedule, to warm the crowd up for the more highly-anticipated bouts later on. Probably for the best, Eve thinks; less time to kill, and less time for something to go wrong, as things tend to, with Oksana.

Oksana paces around the warmup room, then creeps over to the exit to peek out into the main arena. Eve follows, and they both watch through the limited view afforded by the doorway. With the bright spotlights and the poor angle, they can’t see much of the action of the first fight of the night, but they can hear the crowd’s reactions. A gasp as a blow lands. Chanting as the more popular fighter scores a takedown. 

“Pretty different from a gym in the middle of nowhere,” Eve says.

“And different still from the Olympics,” Oksana scoffs, but behind her cool front, Eve notices something she’s never seen in Oksana before. A twitch around the corners of her smile, a few blinks too many. She’s nervous, at least a tiny bit.

It makes sense: though the huge crowd in the seats may be smaller than the audience of the entire world at the Olympics, there’s a different energy in this world. This isn’t for prestige, it’s for the entertainment of the masses, and the masses are _hungry_. The crowds are louder, and drunker, and more shameless. Bloodlust hangs in the air; if these people aren’t satisfied with what happens in the octagon, they may riot at any moment.

“Good thing you aren’t that same boxer who went to the Olympics, anymore,” Eve says, and elbows Oksana encouragingly. “Maybe this isn’t what Oksana’s used to. But Villanelle’s about to make this territory her own.”

That’s all it takes for Oksana’s hesitant smile to turn into a predator’s grin. With one more handshake for luck, Eve retires to her seat out front by the ring, and tries to settle her own nerves while waiting for the walkout.

The announcer introduces Gemma first, with her 2-1-0 record in the UFC thus far, she gets a few cheers from some fans who recognize her. She enters the ring bouncy and shiny and blowing kisses to the crowd. Eve stifles a gag.

While she preens for the audience, the commentator goes on. “Facing off with her, we have a new fighter going by a mysterious codename – truth is, her name is Oksana Astankova, and would you believe this? She’s an Olympic boxer, fresh off a gold medal, but apparently, quit the sport. You have to wonder, why leave when at the peak of one sport and switch to another? I have a feeling we’re going to learn a lot with this debut fight from… Villanelle!”

With that, the music shifts – after the debacle from the first fight, Eve and Oksana had an intense negotiation over walkout music, and finally settled on “Toxic” by Britney Spears; a compromise between edginess and popular appeal. The fearsome string ostinato blasts over the sound system as Oksana emerges from the hallway and enters the ring. She’s in a black ensemble splashed with the UFC logo and other generic sponsors, while Gemma’s in a blue-toned version of the same. The crowd reception as she emerges is rather subdued; no one knows what to make of her yet. But in fifteen minutes, Eve is sure, their reactions will change.

Once the referee starts the fight, Oksana and Gemma tap their fists in a sportsmanlike fashion, then Oksana drops back. _Good,_ Eve thinks. Hang back, wait for Gemma to come within her larger striking radius.

The first minute is rather uneventful, as Gemma carefully tests Oksana’s reach but drops back before she can be hit badly. Eventually, Gemma takes the plunge and rushes in to pull Oksana into a standing clinch. It makes sense; everything in the film they studied showed that Gemma’s game was in taking fights to the ground, since her style of finishing was more dependent on joint locks and chokes than strikes.

Oksana rolls with the clinch, locking her arms around Gemma’s shoulders, and throwing several strong kicks against Gemma’s calves and thighs while they’re locked up. Eve worries, not for the first time, that Oksana has gotten a bit too kick-happy, in her transition from boxing. The new addition to her arsenal is so exciting to her that she overdoes it sometimes.

But it isn’t long before Gemma fights back. In spite of her smaller stature, she has surprising lower body strength, and while Oksana raises her leg for another kick, Gemma throws her off balance and takes her to the floor.

Gemma is in her element now; she wastes no time positioning herself on top of Oksana, throwing a few elbow strikes, and although Oksana raises her arms to block them, the audible thuds each blow makes against Oksana’s biceps make the pain of such blows painfully clear.

But Gemma isn’t content with these strikes; with a bit more maneuvering, she gets Oksana an Arm Triangle Choke, with her arms locked around Oksana’s shoulders, and her whole torso pressing down on Oksana so she can’t free herself. 

“No,” Eve murmurs. Oksana is quite literally being smothered by Gemma’s tits. What little of Oksana’s face is still visible starts to go blue, but in a stroke of extremely fortunate timing, the referee steps in, and the first round ends. Oksana is saved by the bell, before she falls unconscious.

Eve and Kenny burst into the ring. Kenny plops down a stool and helps guide Oksana over to rest on it.

Though she knows it’s not the time, Eve can’t resist a jab. “Are the tits still funny now?”

“Air,” Oksana gasps. “I need air.”

Eve takes a step back and fans Oksana, while Kenny offers her water. She doesn’t bother to spend the brief break berating Oksana too much, for she learned the cost of her mistake. As the referee motions for the coaches to clear out for the next round, Eve looks Oksana in the eyes, says, “You can do this.”  
  
The second round is closer. Though Oksana is a bit unsteady at first, clearly still getting her breath back, she pulls through, and is careful not to get taken down this time. She keeps her distance, and gets in a few solid punches and kicks whenever Gemma tries to sneak in for a takedown. Nothing too exciting, but she thoroughly exerts her control over the ring, and by the end of the round, Gemma is starting to look rather worn.

“That was brilliant,” Eve says, as she coaches Oksana in the pause. “Exactly what you want to do. Don’t get too hasty. Keep up what you’ve been doing. But if she gives you an opening…” Eve trails off, knowing she may regret the words she’s about to utter. “Go for the knockout.”

Oksana nods, and her eyes seem to darken. She’s in the zone now. 

As the third round starts, both fighters take it slow, both showing some signs of exhaustion after ten minutes of fighting. The crowd begins to grumble, growing bored with the fight. As if in response to this complaint, Oksana makes her move.

Oksana spots a gap in Gemma’s defenses and launches a powerful cross, a finishing blow. Gemma takes it to the shoulder, and it clearly hurts, but she manages to throw her weight forward and take Oksana down to the floor again.

But this time, Oksana is ready, and she quickly executes one of the escapes Eve taught her in their grappling training. She wraps her legs around Gemma, uses the leverage to flip her over. 

Now she’s on top, in a mount position. She gets a few good strikes in, and although Gemma protects her face as best she can, she takes a lot of rough blows. This is where Oksana excels: dealing pure, unadulterated damage.  
  
Eve glances at the clock – only twenty seconds left. There may not be enough time for Oksana to score a knockout, but with how she’s controlled the past two rounds, she’s likely to win by the scorecards. But then, right as the bell sounds, Oksana swings her elbow down in a vicious blow against Gemma’s torso.

As the referee steps in, Oksana gets up and does a lap of the ring. She’s grinning, pumping her arms in victory. 

But amongst the cheers from the crowd, there are murmurs of fear and discontent. Oksana slows, confused. Eve can’t move, she’s frozen; can’t bring herself to step in and help, she can only watch as Oksana turns, and sees what everyone else is reacting to.

Gemma remains flat on the mat. She’s not getting up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to finish this story for real. I swear! I'm gonna try! It might not be even close to realistic, or good, but I am gonna finish it if it kills me!
> 
> anyways come say hi on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	6. Turning On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Villanelle's first UFC match ends in controversy, Eve can no longer turn a blind eye to her behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! Feels like it was just three months ago I was updating this story! time sure does fly, huh!?

Within seconds, the medical team descends upon the ring. One doctor checks Gemma’s pulse and blood pressure, while another places pressure on various points of her torso. As soon as the hand presses on her ribcage, Gemma cries out in pain.

 _This is bad_ , Eve thinks.

Oksana stares with grim fascination while the team carefully straps Gemma on to a stretcher and carries her out of the ring.

The announcer vamps. “Folks, the medical team will assess what needs to be done, but in the mean time, we will listen to our officials for the verdict of the match. Sit tight.”

Despite this command, the crowd grows restless, growling and gossiping, and quite a number of people begin to evacuate the stands for the snack bar.

Oksana cautiously stalks over to the side of the ring, and presses her face against the chains to get Eve’s attention. “I didn’t mean…”

Eve shushes her. “I need to hear what the judges have to say. I’ll deal with you later.”

 _This is very bad_ , Eve amends.

Everything had gone so well until the very last second. Oksana finally followed a game plan, for once, and nearly managed what she does best: going for the knockout. But then she had to push her luck with the elbow strike. Right on the bell. If the referee counts these as separate fouls, then Oksana may well be disqualified, and the fight will go on her record as a loss.

The referee moves over to the judges table to confer with them. Eve watches their conversation intently, though she’s distracted by Oksana shifting restlessly in her peripheral vision. She’s almost to the point of snapping at Kenny to give Oksana a juice box or something to keep her occupied, when the referee nods, then steps back out into the ring.

He takes a microphone and addresses the crowd. “We have determined that there were two possible fouls at the end of the third round. First, an illegal 12-6 elbow strike. This foul is valid.”

Eve curses under her breath.

“The second possible foul was for striking after the bell. Upon conferring, we believe the motion began before the bell and could not have stopped in time, so accordingly, this foul will not be assessed. As a result of the single foul, the fighter Villanelle will receive a penalty of one point deducted from her scorecard.”

“What?” Oksana cries.

“Shh!” Eve digs her nails into her arm, wishing she could be doing the same to Oksana to shut her up. Meanwhile, the crowd erupts into a chorus of jeers – some booing Oksana for her dirty play, others booing the judges for coming to that decision, but no one’s happy.

 _This is still bad,_ Eve thinks. That penalty could still turn the fight into a loss. But it all depends on how the judges scored the fight…

Her breath catches in her throat as they reveal the scores from each round.

The announcer takes the mic back from the referee. “We now go to the judges’ scorecards. With the scores of 29-27, 28-27, and 29-27, after assessing the deduction, the winner, by unanimous decision, is… Villanelle!”

The crowd roars.

* * *

While the next fight picks up, Oksana swaggers towards locker room. Eve follows hot on her tail.

“Don’t that just because you pulled off the win that it means I’m going to let that absolutely reckless finish slide.”

“I know you’re always excited about another chance to give a lecture, but–”

Her words choke off unexpectedly, and it takes a moment for Eve to realize why.

There’s a balding man with a white beard standing by the exit to the locker rooms. Oksana freezes up at the sight of him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says, hands clasped primly at his front. His accent is Russian.

“What are you doing here?” Oksana says, clearly shaken.

“I wanted to surprise you,” the man replies. “Your first fight. Congratulations. I suppose this is a level of controversy you couldn’t get with me.”

Eve’s putting it all together as the man steps forward and stretches out his hand. “You must be the new coach.”

“And manager,” Eve adds instinctively, while accepting the handshake. “Eve Polastri.”

“Konstantin Vasiliev.” He withdraws his hand quickly after Eve releases it.

Oksana has clammed up, uncharacteristically taciturn in the face of her former coach.

Eve doesn’t know much about him beyond the biographical; of course she did her research on Oksana’s past educators to get a sense for her experience. Russian through and through, from a boxing family, a fighter himself before age and injury led him to coaching others. But the truth is, Oksana hasn’t offered many reminiscences about him, other than occasionally telling Eve she was coming off softer than Konstantin.

“It’s a pleasure,” Eve says, offering her trademark professional smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. Konstantin doesn’t seem much happier to see her.

“Why have you come all this way?” Oksana repeats, blinking.

“You’ve stretched your legs,” Konstantin gestures vaguely around. “You’ve had your fun. Even gotten into a spot of trouble. Now, it is time to come back.”

“Back to what?” Oksana sneers.

“I understand you have been restless, but it is time to begin serious preparations for the next Olympics.”

“I’m done with that,” Oksana says. “This is my career now.”

“This circus?” Konstantin lets out a clipped laugh. “You are better than this. You are a real athlete. You don’t need this debauchery.” He throws a dismissive gesture towards the arena.

“Excuse me,” Eve steps in between them. “My client has just finished a difficult fight. She needs space. You’ve said your hello as a guest, now I’ll politely ask you to return to your seat for the remainder of the evening. If you need help finding your way, I can contact the venue staff to assist you.”

Konstantin glowers, but shuffles away. Before he’s gone, he turns and calls out something in Russian. Oksana doesn’t respond.

“Come on,” Eve mutters, a hand on Oksana’s shoulder, ushering her into the hallway that leads towards the locker rooms.

“I can deal with Konstantin,” Oksana says. “You don’t have to fight my battles for me.”

“We don’t even have time to bicker about that. I’m more concerned with how you almost blew up your entire career before it even _started_. You had a clean, easy victory in your hands. Then you _had_ to launch a blow right on the bell – we’ve worked on timing consciousness.”

“You told me to go for the knockout.”

“Not with an illegal strike.” Now that they’re in private, Eve finally releases all restriction from her voice and bellows loud enough that it echoes off the floor and ceiling of the narrow hallway. “Exactly what the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“I have never fought anyone with breasts that large before. I thought they’d cushion her.”

“If you make one more goddamn joke about breasts, I’m voiding your contract. Don’t pretend I haven’t taught you the rules of this sport.”

“Why does it matter?” Oksana rolls her eyes. “I won, didn’t I?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you did it on purpose.”

“Good thing you know better.” Oksana tilts her head a few degrees, unflinching.

“Eve.”

Eve turns her head at the timid voice addressing her. Kenny has appeared at the end of the hallway, holding onto the doorjamb like a lifeline. “There’s some press waiting. They want a post-match interview.”

“Already?”

“Just got word back on Gemma’s condition,” Kenny says. “They wanted a ‘gotcha’, but I heard them discussing it. Broken rib, but she’s going to be alright.”

Broken rib. Eve lets out a breath. It could absolutely be worse.

Oksana shrugs and starts back towards the arena, but Eve grabs her by the shoulder. “Not so fast. Kenny, you’ve done great, but now I need you to go stall. Two minutes. Thank you.”

Kenny nods and hops off like a little rabbit, while Eve digs in her pockets until she finds a pen and a scrap of paper – a receipt from a drink she got earlier in the night, which feels like an eternity ago. She flattens the scrap against the wall and starts scribbling furiously.

“Is now really the time to make your shopping list?”

While Eve’s pen flies over the paper, she feels Oksana’s body heat radiating against her back, as she looks over Eve’s shoulder.

Eve turns and nudges her away with her shoulder, a little rougher than necessary. Then she shoves the receipt into Oksana’s hand.

“You’re going to walk out there and read this script I wrote for you. Then, maybe, we can move onto further damage control.”

Oksana holds the paper up to her face, squinting at Eve’s looping scrawl. “Earlier tonight you said people can ‘smell bullshit’. Now, you want me to lie?”

“What part is a lie?” Eve snaps. "I know the truth isn’t that you did it on purpose. I know the truth isn’t that you wanted to hurt someone so bad that you forgot you’re participating in a sport with rules, and not playing some fucking video game where killing people is cool. So you are going to go out there and look contrite. When they point the mic in your face, you are going to say that you are _sorry_.”

Oksana sets her jaw, and swallows. She folds the receipt into her hand and swaggers back out into the arena without another word.

Eve follows at a distance. She watches as Oksana flashes a glittering smile and shakes hands with the interviewers. Given their interview practice earlier, Eve ought to feel more confident than she does. Or maybe not. Everything’s going wrong tonight, at an alarming rate.

Another match has just wrapped up, and the ring is being set up for the next fight, so they’ve turned the cameras and sound system on to Villanelle’s interview. The whole crowd is waiting to hear what she has to say, much as Eve is.

After filling in the audience on Gemma’s condition, the interviewer cuts right to the chase. “Given the circumstances of your victory, are there any words you’d like us to pass along to your opponent?”

Oksana hunches down, leaning so her lips almost brush the microphone the interviewer has thrust at her. She takes a deep breath. And she speaks, in a low, husky tone.

“Sorry, baby.”

Silence.

Then the crowd erupts. The din is unintelligible, raucous laughter mixed with howls of anger. The interviewer is agape, but Oksana is extremely pleased with the chaos she’s created.

Eve marches over, locks her hand around Oksana’s wrist, and drags her away before she can make things worse.

Eve sends Oksana away. “Go clean yourself up,” she commands. “And get ready to _grovel_ at this after party. Next time I see you I want you to be pretty and polished and shaking hands like your life depends on it.”

Oksana rolls her eyes, and walks towards the locker room. But before Eve goes, she spots Konstantin lurking in the wings.

Eve opens her mouth to warn Oksana not to go with him, but then, in his shadowy way, Kenny’s at her arm, stopping her. “Let her,” he says. “She needs a bit of time to come down without you all over her.”

“You’re asking me to just stand back while that off-brand Santa Claus tries to poach my client?”

“Technically you poached her first.”

“I did nothing of the sort. She was a free agent when she came to me.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“Excuse me?”

Kenny then grows sheepish, avoiding Eve’s gaze.

“Go on, Kenny. Spit it out.”

“If I’ve learned anything working with you these two weeks, you’re not the sort of person who would sign a contract without investigating fully. You had to know that Oksana didn’t actually ... on her end... properly separate from Konstantin.”

 _Of course._ Of course the idiot who decided to join a new sport after one night of spectating it didn’t close out her last sport in the correct manner. Of course the snarky little shit who didn’t even read Eve’s contract before signing it didn’t properly negotiate release from her last contract.

“I’m going to kill her,” Eve growls. “I’m going to strangle her and then chop the body into little bits. Dissolve it in acid. Flush it down the sewer.”

“Eve...”

“It’s disaster after disaster with her. No, scratch that,” Eve laughs bitterly. “She _is_ the disaster.”

“It’s not so bad as that,” Kenny says, though even he fails to sound upbeat.

“I’m at my wit’s end, Kenny. And my wits do not usually grow spent this quickly. So I’m asking my goddamn assistant. What do I do?”

“If she’s that much of a disaster…” Kenny shrugs one shoulder. “You _could_ just release her. I’m sure that’s what Konstantin’s talking to her about right now. He’d gladly take her off your hands.”

Eve considers this. Maybe it would be for the best. This little experiment with Oksana was never a guaranteed success. In fact, there had been plenty of red flags Eve already ignored along the way. Oksana trying a new sport on a whim one night. Oksana signing a contract without reading it nor showing it to a lawyer. Plus, the most egregious of all: Oksana attacking Eve outside of the ring to get her way.

“She’s a gold medalist,” Eve murmurs. “I know she wants to win. I know she wants to be elite.”

And she was elite – with Konstantin. Eve wonders for a half-second if the problem is her. Then brushes it off.

“Clearly she’s capable of taking things seriously,” Eve continues. “Why isn’t she now?”

“Ask her,” Kenny says.

_Ask her._

What a novel concept.

Though it’s probably a lost cause, Eve is too stubborn to give up that easily. On top of that, she took an instant dislike to Konstantin – nothing she can put into words, but something about his manner rankles her. She refuses to let him win this impromptu battle.

She resolves to confront Oksana about the contract, as well as the laundry list of other behavior issues, later. After the party, or perhaps tomorrow morning.

In the meantime, Eve returns to her seat in the stands and stews, not focusing on the fights, but rather trying to come up with the right way to frame her confrontation. The real question is, does she want Oksana to want to stay after this confrontation? Or does she hope to drive Oksana away, back to Konstantin’s waiting arms, to save herself the future headaches?

Eve isn’t sure. Maybe after she sleeps on it she’ll have a better idea. But for now, she has to prepare herself to get through the afterparty. The thought of seeing that stupid Russian face right now makes her want to throw her own illegal strike, but she has to keep an eye on Oksana and ensure she doesn’t top tonight’s disasters with an even bigger catastrophe at the party.

Still, it’s an unappealing prospect, and Eve stalls as much as she can before leaving. She sends Kenny ahead, asking him to both meet and greet on her behalf, and babysit Oksana if she’s already there causing a stir.

Eve hangs around until all of the crowds are gone, leaving only beer-soaked floors and popcorn kernels in their wake. The venue is spooky yet peaceful in its vast emptiness. She decides to take the back way out through the locker rooms in case there are still colleagues lingering by the entrance waiting for a car to pick them up. Eve can’t imagine anything more unappealing right now than small talk.

When she enters the locker room, however, she finds that not everyone has left for the party.

At the far side of the room, Oksana sits on a bench, facing the opposite wall. She’s still in her fight outfit. She hasn’t stripped nor showered. Her hair is still in its braids, though a bit frizzy around the edges.

Eve could say something, but she doesn’t want to. Oksana must have heard her walk in. Oksana must have felt the tiny change in the room temperature now that her body has entered. Oksana must have sensed her presence with that strange hyperawareness she has for those in her proximity. Or maybe just for Eve in her proximity.

Sure enough, half a dozen heartbeats later, Oksana turns, lifting her legs over to the other side of the bench in one smooth motion, then dropping, elbows onto her knees, to face Eve. She gives an inviting look like a mob boss, dark and appraising.

“Had a good talk with Konstantin?”

Oksana doesn’t answer.

Eve remains at the far side of the room, hardly raising her voice to cross the distance between them. “When did you plan to tell me that you never got out of your contract with him?”

“I assumed you knew,” Oksana responds, finally. “You are always going on about how you know everything. I thought you knew and didn’t care.”

“If it’s going to interfere with our relationship, I care.”

“Relationship.” Oksana pops the last _P_. Then smirks.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

Eve resists the urge to raise her voice, and talks through the script she’d composed in her head. “No one acts at random. Besides, it isn’t random. Tonight is merely the latest in a pattern of you apparently trying your hardest to jeopardize everything I — everything _we_ have worked on together since we signed our contract. Believe me when I say I’ve tried to be patient, but my patience is finite.”

“I told Konstantin I’m not coming back. He can call my lawyer about the contract and I’ll pay whatever settlement it takes. I’m not giving up on this… _relationship_.”

“Oh,” Eve is momentarily stunned by the ease of this. Even if Oksana wanted to stay with the UFC, and with her, Eve had expected a fight over it.

Oksana blinks and scratches her nose. “Can I shower now?”

“The thing is, that’s hardly the only issue.” Eve steps closer. “No excuses. No bullshit. No telling me it’s an accident. You’re an elite athlete, not a hyperactive child. You’re acting out because you _want_ something. Instead of throwing another tantrum, please, save us some time and tell me what it is. Then, maybe we can get it and move past all this nonsense.”

“You're joking.” Oksana chuckles.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“I think I’ve been really clear about what I want.” Oksana rises, then lowers her eye-line to stare Eve down. “I want you.”

Eve furrows her brow. “You have me.”

“Sex with you.” Oksana pronounces it so softly, it’s almost sweet. Until Eve fully processes the words.

“In retrospect, perhaps that _was_ obvious,” Eve murmurs. She takes a step back and turns away. She can’t look at Oksana right now. She focuses on the grimy tiled floor instead.

Oksana’s not saying a word, though she’s never been louder. Eve just needs a minute to think. She pulls her hair back, then lets it down again. She pulls at the pockets on her blazer and digs the heel of her boots into the cracks between the tiles.

Finally, Oksana breaks her silence. “Are you okay?” she says, stupid innocence layering her tone, like Eve had just stubbed her toe and not been propositioned by her client.

“Right.” Eve turns around, pushes her hair out of her face. “Let’s nip this in the bud.”

Eve steps forward. Stares at Oksana. Her hand curls into the stretchy fabric of Oksana’s sports bra, clenching tight. A sick thrill of pleasure runs through her at the maneuver that would be illegal in the ring, as she yanks Oksana by the shirt and then backs her up against the wall of lockers.

As Oksana’s head rattles against the metal, her chin turns up and bears a wicked grin. Eve takes one hand, holds her head still. If she’s going to grin like a hyena, she’s got to live in that. Her other hand flattens against Oksana’s stomach. Palm against abdominals. Fingers splayed, pointing down. Oksana’s breathing comes heavy, and Eve feels the up-down of her diaphragm through taut skin.

Her other hand receives the parallel up-down bob of Villanelle’s larynx as she swallows. Then the low vibrations, as she speaks. “This is how you punish me for speaking out of turn?”

“The opposite,” Eve murmurs, as her hand slips down lower, past the belly button. “I’m rewarding you for giving me a straight answer for once.”

Eve’s fingers lead the charge downward, like a compass finding true north – though in this case, they move south. Her hand slips smoothly underneath the elastic waistband of Oksana’s shorts and begins exploring blindly.

The landscape shifts under her touch as Oksana comes alive again, torso bucking forward, arms reaching out to grasp Eve. Her face lunges forward, and lips nearly make contact with Eve’s, until Eve throws her back, pinning her back against the locker by the neck. Not enough to choke. Enough to be uncomfortable.

“Stop that,” Eve croons, softly. She releases her grip on Oksana’s throat, and begins running her fingers over the tight cords of muscle, and windpipe, while her other hand still rests placidly in the front of Oksana’s shorts. “In order for this to work, you’re not going to move unless I instruct you to. You’re not going to speak unless spoken to.”

The seed of a response brews in Oksana’s throat, but she thinks better of it. Eve can feel the hum from her voice box, though, along with the airflow as she breathes for her life, and the blood thrumming through her arteries, as her pulse races like there’s no tomorrow. So many elements of life flow through this point: air, blood, and electrical impulses from the nervous system. Such a vulnerable area, the neck.

While Eve explores this rich canvas, Oksana sits silent, playing by the rules. Eve decides this is satisfactory enough to proceed. Her fingers slide in between Oksana’s legs to find that she’s already extremely wet. Eve wastes no more time, inserting one finger into Oksana and curling it forward.

Oksana whimpers faintly. A downright vulnerable sound, unlike any cry or grunt or moan she’d ever made in the ring before.

“Is this what you wanted?” Eve whispers.

Oksana nods a tiny nod, then throws her head back against the wall with a _clang_ as Eve rocks her hand back and then inserts a second finger. In deep, now, while her thumb slowly, angrily churns around Oksana’s clit.

“You need to be properly trained,” Eve says, rubbing her other thumb along Oksana’s jaw, caressing it. “I’m not opposed to incentives, but it’s up to your behavior. You can get the carrot, or you can get the stick.”

“I–”

“Did I say you could speak?” Eve knifes her fingers deeper into Oksana, just one thrust, then freezes at the very core of her. Oksana’s breath ceases with the motion.

“You will learn to follow instructions,” Eve says, her voice quiet, but not soft. “Or you will find a much less pleasant alternative. Is that clear?”

Oksana’s chest heaves as she lets out a heavy exhale through her nose, her teeth gritted.

“You may speak.”

“Please,” Oksana whimpers, and swallows. Her face is red, and her eyelids flutter. “Please.”

Verbalizing the request is hardly necessary. She’s throbbing with how badly she needs it. Her whole body has gone up several degrees, beads of sweat pooling on her collarbone. She’s so tight around Eve, all it will take is the tiniest twitch to make her come so hard she’ll give herself a concussion.

Eve withdraws her hand and sneers, “You can finish when you're Champion.”

She crosses the room, and wipes her hand on a towel hanging from the wall before sparing one glance over her shoulder.

“Clean yourself up and put on a nice face. You’ve got a lot more performing to do. I’ll see you at the party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎶 It was the heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant 🎶
> 
> anyways here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/17Cr1pfnZSlQ8Sydhcsmo3) of sexy backbeats and '80s jams to listen to this story, or to fuck your boss with, idk, you do you
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	7. Taking Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Eve learns how to handle Oksana, Villanelle gains attention from the media.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG THANKS to [charizona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charizona/pseuds/charizona) for beta reading this chapter!

There are two days off after Oksana’s first victory.

Monday morning, they’re back to a normal training schedule. And everything is going to be very _normal_ , Eve has decided.

Thank God, Oksana behaves normally that morning, too. Perhaps a bit subdued, but at least she’s not shouting from the rooftops about what happened in the locker room after the fight.

That thing that happened.

Which was maybe a huge mistake, but it happened.

Eve’s a little tense.

Acting most normal of all in his blissful ignorance is Kenny, who happily narrates to Eve that over the weekend, the views on the ‘leaked’ video of Villanelle’s first fight have gone way up. Someone even uploaded a comparison that fight side-by-side with Oksana’s gold medal winning fight at the Olympics.

“All over Youtube, Twitter, and Reddit, people are arguing about whether or not she deserved to win.” Kenny says. “Which maybe isn’t ideal, but her Google results are going nuts.” Kenny grins, the first time Eve has seen him truly enjoying his job. “I’ve got calls from three different outlets wanting an interview,” he adds, proudly.

“After one fight?” Eve fails to hide a hint of incredulity in her tone.

“Is that bad?” Kenny asks.

“No,” Eve says. “It’s good. Very good.”

Oksana shoves her hands in her pockets and circles Eve, grinning smugly. “This is where a lesser woman might say, ‘I told you so.’”

“That wouldn’t even make sense, since the lesser woman never in fact ‘told’ me anything, she just acted rashly with no concern whatsoever for the fallout. A lesser woman better thank her lucky stars we pulled this off.”

“We?” Oksana tilts her head. “What exactly did _you_ do to make this happen?”

Eve feels a fire building in the pit of her stomach. She feels the urge to throw Oksana against the wall, to shut her up the one way that’s been proven effective–

No. Not now, not ever again.

Or… at least not while Kenny’s here.

* * *

Aside from an occasional sarcastic retort, Oksana proceeds on good behavior. It seems she got the message that night, to some degree.

Two days later comes Oksana’s first exclusive interview with a small web-based outlet. Not quite _Sports Illustrated_ , but it’s a start. Before the interview, there’s the photoshoot.

Every manager knows, all forms of photo ops are excellent – a picture’s worth a thousand words, after all, and one good photoshoot is worth a thousand fights when it comes to getting sponsors. Especially with someone as photogenic as Oksana. As thrilling as it is to watch her in the ring, it’s another kind of thrill entirely to watch her work the camera as if she’s a professional model rather than an athlete.

Oksana’s in a dark blue suit, with a slight sheen to the fabric. Underneath the jacket, however, instead of a button down, she has only a scoop-neck sleeveless shirt. After a few traditional shots, where Oksana showcases every possible angle of smoldering, the photographer has her slip off the jacket and turns on a wind machine. Her golden hair whips in the artificial breeze while she flexes for the camera.

Of course Oksana already catches the eye under the worst of circumstances, but between the hair and makeup work, and the lighting that’s doing incredible favors… Eve’s certain that once the best shots come out, no one will be able to look at these pictures and not want a piece of Oksana.

Eve hangs back, watching the proceedings. She’s ready to swoop in if anything goes wrong, but so far, Oksana’s on her best behavior. Maybe incentives work.

The photographer encourages Oksana to try to some cheesy moves, and Eve instinctively tenses up, ready to jump in and apologize for Oksana’s rude retort, but it never comes. Oksana acquiesces and kisses her flexed bicep in the silliest, most trite pose that Eve knows must be killing her inside. She even throws in a coy wink to the camera. Or is it to Eve?

After a quick scroll through his camera, the photographer decides he’s got the shots he needs. He then thanks Oksana for being such a good model, with a bit too much of a layered inflection in his voice. Again, Eve tenses, waiting for Oksana to break the man’s hand, or at least his camera, for making such a lazy pass at her, but she merely thanks him as well, then follows the assistant guiding her over to the interview area. Eve follows, stunned.

The interview goes better than Eve could’ve hoped. Oksana demonstrates that she clearly understood Eve’s interview lessons and simply chose not to follow instructions in the past, but Eve decides not to dwell on her anger at that, and instead embrace the relief at Oksana absolutely _killing_ it today.

“Thanks, Villanelle!” the team all offer cheerily as Eve and Oksana head for the exit.

Eve resolves, maybe that moment in the locker room wasn’t a mistake… maybe it was exactly what Oksana needed. Hands-on management.

* * *

The interview builds more buzz. The views on Oksana’s fight videos continue to climb. Meanwhile, there are more fights to prepare for, so it’s back to training, even harder than before.

Eve has started calling in some of her old friends so that Oksana can have other sparring partners. Now, she’s going head-to-head with Jess Lawson, whom Eve coached briefly early on in her career before she signed with another league.

Oksana remains confident int he ring, perhaps to excess. She keeps going for flashy moves, but Jess doesn’t falter and gets in a flurry of simple but painful hits. Still, a minute later, Oksana sees an opening and pulls Jess in for an armbar, winning the submission. Jess congratulates her on a good fight, and Oksana grunts in assent.

Oksana steps out of the ring to get water and towel off some sweat. She holds up her right arm, where a purplish bruise in the shape of Jess’s fist is already forming.

“Your girl’s good,” Jess says, shaking out her arm, before pulling on a sweatshirt.

“She’s coming along,” Eve says.

“Think you’re gonna stick with this one?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it with me, Eve. I remember your style. You’re brilliant, but if you’re sticking to your normal schedule, you’ve got five, maybe six months before you get into a standoff with her over something entirely silly and one of you fires the other.”

“I do not have a schedule,” Eve protests, though the words falter because Jess is not entirely wrong. But even if there is a pattern, it’s unfair of her to imply it’s due to anything purposeful Eve does. “It’s hard finding the right match.”

“Can’t argue with you there. Still looking for someone new myself.”

Eve walks Jess out into the hallway. “Is this your way of luring me into begging you to sign with me again?”

Jess laughs. “I love you, but no. Absolutely, one hundred percent _not._ Besides… you’ve got your hands plenty full already.”

Eve bids her goodbye with a quick hug, then returns to find Oksana playing on her phone.

“Put the games away; we’re getting back in the ring.”

“I’m not playing games. I’m texting Konstantin.”

 _Different sort of game, then_ , Eve notes. She forces herself to take a deep breath and count to five before continuing. “Why are you texting Konstantin?”

“Really, _he_ is texting _me._ I told him to talk to my lawyer, but he won’t even talk about a settlement. He thinks he can convince me to come back. He said it’s not even about the contract; it’s about our ‘special relationship’.” Oksana forms gigantic air-quotes.

“What are you going to tell him?”

“Nothing.” Oksana tosses her phone aside and stands up. “I’m getting back in the ring.”

Oksana leads the way towards the ring, and Eve follows tentatively. “You’re sure you’re good? You don’t need a cool-down?”

Oksana rolls her eyes. “I hardly broke a sweat with her. Why do you have me fighting all these oldies? I am not learning anything I couldn’t get from grappling with you.”

“It seems you need me to hammer the lesson home.” Eve ties her hair back and steps into the ring. “Kenny, walk Jess out, would you? And see if she wants lunch. On my tab. Maybe you can chat your way into a future contract with her.”

Kenny mutters thanks and scampers down the stairs to catch Jess.

Eve slips on a set of gloves and unzips her windbreaker, stripping down to her t-shirt.

Oksana makes a mockingly frightened face. “Ooh, coming to fight me after I’ve just beaten someone else? How brave.”

“Not here to fight.” Eve coos. She reaches over the side of the ring to grab a nearby folding chair and hoists it into the ring. She places it down in the center and motions for Oksana to take a seat. Finally, Oksana connects the dots, and a nervous giddiness infuses her as she sits in the chair, hardly able to keep still.

Eve pulls out a fresh gauze wrap from the basket she keeps near the ring. She stretches the soft white cotton between her hands, then walks over to Oksana and begins wrapping it around her head.

“What’s this?”

“A learning experience.” Eve wraps the length of cotton over Oksana’s eyes and around the back of her head, once, twice, three times, then ties it in a loose knot just under Oksana’s ponytail.

“Kinky,” Oksana giggles.

Eve ignores this. She paces around the ring. “Where am I?”

“Is that a trick question?” Oksana shifts restlessly in the chair, and instinctively swivels her head in the direction of Eves voice. “You’re in your gym, 12587 Santa Monica Boulevard, on the fourth floor, in the ring, with your favorite client.”

Eve pulls her feet up from the mat lightly as possible so they don’t make a sticking sound, and slinks across the ring to come up behind Oksana. She leans in close to her ear and hisses, “You’ll need to be more specific than that.”

Oksana flinches and nearly falls off the chair at Eve’s words in her ear. She recomposes herself almost instantly, but Eve indulges in a low chuckle.

“It’s not enough to react to what you see in the ring,” Eve says as she withdraws. “You have to know what’s coming. Every muscle, every movement, every molecule. Or else you’ll pay.”

“But in a real fight, I won’t be blindfolded.”

“In a real fight, if you let your guard down, your career can end like _that_.” Eve sneaks up in front this time and flicks Oksana in the forehead to emphasize her point, earning an annoyed grunt in return.

“Get up.”

“What are you planning?” Oksana says warily as she shifts onto her feet.

“You’re going to guard from an opponent you can’t see.”

“You just want a chance to beat up on me, because you know you can’t defeat me without a handicap.”

“On the contrary, I’m actually trying to make you a better fighter. As is my job. And you’re trying to keep me talking so you can hear where I am.”

Oksana turns in the direction of Eve’s voice. “If you play dirty, you can’t blame me for fighting back how I can.”

Eve shuts her mouth and begins to move around the ring, silent as a shadow. She’s quite good, if she says so herself – it’s an exercise she’s done many times with past clients, so she’s well practiced in slipping around quietly and striking the unsuspecting fighter without a sound. Sure enough, the cocky grin slowly melts off of Oksana’s face as she spins around, unsure of Eve’s present location.

When Oksana looks suitably confused, Eve strikes. She tackles Oksana, and though Oksana tries to throw her off, it’s too late, and Eve takes her down to the mat.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Cheap shot,” Oksana spits.

“To teach you.”

“What am I supposed to learn? Don’t wear a blindfold in a title fight?”

“It’s the importance of protecting yourself,” Eve says. “You’re too trigger happy. You can win fights with offense, sure, but you can’t build a long-lasting career without defense. Jess’s older than me, and she’s still working. You listen to what I’m saying, that could be you. Or you can ignore me and follow a career trajectory more akin to James Dean.”

“Whatever you say, Obi-Wan.” Oksana groans. “Can I take it off now?”

“Have you learned your lesson?”

Eve’s voice has dropped into a different register, lower than her standard coaching fare. Blindfolded as she is, Oksana can clearly hear this change.

Hands dragging along her body, Eve releases her pinning grip, but Oksana doesn’t attempt an escape. Her neck relaxes, resting her head against the mat, as she parts her lips slightly. Like she’s settling in for a massage.

 _No, no, no,_ Eve thinks. _Can’t have that._

Fingers dance along the curve of Oksana’s muscles until they come to rest on the purple bloom on Oksana’s bicep. Her thumb finds the center of the mark, the deepest shade, the center of the crater where Jess’s fist met Oksana’s flesh a few minutes ago.

She presses down with the ball of her thumb. Oksana inhales, then bites her lip.

“That is what happens when you let your guard down,” Eve says, maintaining the pressure. “Remember this feeling, Oksana. Does it feel nice?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Eve presses harder, using the very limits of her grip, and bends down, so her face is mere inches away from Oksana’s. She can sense Oksana’s eyes flitting about through the gauze wrap. She can feel Oksana’s cool breath as it picks up. Their lips are hardly a finger’s width apart.

“Do you have something you want to say?”

“Why don’t you call me Villanelle?”

Eve’s taken aback. This is not the question she expected at this very moment. Perhaps she expected something a little more related to their current positioning. She’s momentarily glad that Oksana can’t see the flash of surprise on her face, though she recovers quickly.

Still, Oksana continues, “Everyone else does. It just makes sense.”

Eve swallows. “Out there, everyone’s starting to take notice of Villanelle. True. But don’t fucking forget, you aren’t Villanelle in here. You’re Oksana. You’re _my_ client. You do what _I_ say.”

She digs her fingers into the bruise one more time. Deeper, until it breaks her, and Oksana finally lets out a vocalization, a cry of pain.

Then a sound comes from across the room, and Eve’s chest seizes up in a burst of panic easily mistakable for a heart attack.

Slowly, slowly, Eve turns her head. Kenny’s back, shifting his feet in the doorway. Visibly uncomfortable. “Jess said thanks for the offer but she already had lunch plans.” He shifts his weight. “Am I interrupting something?”

Eve scoots to the side and stands, then grabs Oksana’s hand and helps her up. “New exercise, that’s all,” she mutters, undoing the blindfold.

Kenny walks over to the counter, and pulls his laptop out of his bag. “I was meaning to ask before. Have you seen last night’s SNL?”

Oksana blinks, adjusting to the light, and shakes her head.

Kenny beckons them both over as he pulls up a YouTube clip on his laptop. It’s a cold open, a political sketch.

“Why are you showing us this?” Eve asks.

Kenny shushes her, and points to the screen. In the middle of the proceedings on the mock Senate floor, suddenly, Kate McKinnon bursts in, dressed in a black sports bra and shorts, with a wig done in French braids. She decks one of the other actors playing a senator, then turns to the camera, and winks. “Sorry, baby.” The studio audience goes wild. Oksana laughs in delight right along with them.

“Eve?” Kenny turns to her, nervous since she hasn’t responded. “This is good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Eve growls. Eve’s fuming. This is the worst. It turns her stomach because it’s fucking amazing. It’s the best press they could possibly ask for. But it had nothing to do with her.

Oksana hops up on the counter and kicks her legs gleefully as she rewinds the clip. “Sorry Baby,” she repeats, an impression of Kate’s impression of her. “People love that. ‘Sorry, Baby.’ Good thing I didn’t use your script that night, hm, Eve?”

“And how did you come up with that clever little quip? Who told you to apologize in the first place?” Eve fires back.

Oksana rolls her eyes and plays the clip again.

There goes any progress Eve made today.

* * *

After SNL, the offers come flooding in. A few viral clips and a couple decisive victories had captured the attention of mixed martial arts community. But _Saturday Night Live_? That’s mainstream cultural consciousness. Suddenly, thousands of people who don’t even know what the letters “UFC” stand for are Googling Villanelle’s name. Better yet, they’re quoting her. “Sorry, Baby” trends on Twitter later that week. Eve wishes she knew what geek on the writing staff had pitched that joke so she could send them a gift basket, because now dozens of brands are blowing up her phone, asking if the sexy, scary “Villanelle” will appear on their next ad campaign and most of all, “ _will she say the catchphrase?_ ”

The interview offers come in as well, but Eve grows more strategic in which she accepts. This viral boost is nice, but she doesn’t want to overwhelm the public with too many appearances at once, lest they grow sick of the taste of Villanelle in their mouths. Better to hold off, and keep the interviewers, as well as the public, itching for more.

“Villanelle, you exploded onto the scene in your very first fight, but since then you just! Keep! Winning!” The interviewer for _MMA World_ hits her notecards against her knee to punctuate the last few words. “Your career has only been a few short months yet you’ve already made such a statement in your four wins, you’ve just reached ninth in the Women’s Bantamweight rankings. How does that feel?”

“Like I still have nine slots to go,” Oksana replies without missing a beat.

Eve watches proudly. In the past few months, she’s finally figured out how to handle Oksana, and Oksana has finally learned that following Eve’s instructions is worthwhile. After a few interviews where she followed Eve’s careful coaching, she’s graduated to the point where she’s able to freestyle without causing an uproar. Though, Eve’s heartbeat still picks up a few beats per minute in every break between a question and Oksana’s response, out of habit.

“You’ve taken sponsorships with Nike and Calvin Klein. It’s such a thrill every time we see you on our screens!” Eve nods with satisfaction – the interviewer’s doing them a real favor, working that in so Oksana doesn’t have to. Then, the interviewer leans forward. “I have to ask. Will you say it for us now?”

Oksana gives the interviewer a withering look, but then concedes. “Only because you asked so nicely.” She straightens up, and pushes out her lips as she says seductively, “Sorry, baby.”

The interviewer goes wild. “Oh, my gosh! So sweet, but you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to get in the ring with you. I’ve seen how evil you can be.”

“Thank you.” Oksana bares her teeth, just the right balance of coy and terrifying.

“Fans will see you take the ring again tomorrow in Atlanta, but before then, let’s leave them with one more tidbit. I’m dying to know. How does it all happen? What’s the secret to your success?”

Eve leans in, eager to hear this answer. She hasn’t scripted anything, of course, so whatever comes out, God help her, will be Oksana’s honest truth.

“History at the Olympics means this is no pressure at all. My foundation with boxing combined with a lot of grappling instruction from the best out there. Plus, of course, my killer instinct.”

The interviewer squeals again. The camera cuts. Another clip that will surely go viral.

* * *

Eve declares an impromptu late night training session after they land in Atlanta that night. She locks the door of the private gym in the hotel and makes arrangements with the front desk so that no one else will try to come in. She learned after a few tries engaging in this routine that it’s better to plan ahead.

When Oksana arrives to meet her, it’s clear she knows what sort of session it will be. Thirty seconds later, she’s flat on the weight bench with Eve pressing down on top of her. However, she seems to have anticipated a different ending than a repeat of Eve’s been doing every few weeks for the past four months. When Eve holds Oksana on her fingertips, then withdraws before she can reach her climax, Oksana howls.

“Why?”

She’s pressing her luck, asking that when Eve didn’t invite her to speak. But Eve’s not in the mood for another admonition, so she merely murmurs, “I think you know why.”

“I’ve done everything as you like it,” Oksana whines.

“Not everything.” Eve climbs off, and perches on the very end of the bench.

“Something in the interview?” Oksana squirms. The magic is already broken. She sits up. “I thought I nailed that last answer. PR speak, like you taught me.”

“Forget it.”

“Permission to ask a question?”

The mood has already shifted, so Eve isn’t sure why Oksana’s asking permission, now. “What is it?”

“What was your longest relationship?”

Eve pauses. First to debate admonishing Oksana, then to actually consider the answer to the question. “I was married to Niko for five years.”

“That’s not the kind I meant.”

“Then why are you asking? You could easily look up my client history.”

“I could,” Oksana says. “But I wanted to ask you.”

It must be some tactic to get the upper hand, though Eve’s not sure how it’s supposed to work. Is she trying to criticize Eve for the fact that she’s not managed a long stint with any particular client? That may be true, but there were always other factors at play… Eve can’t be sure if this was Oksana’s intent, but just in case, she gets up and goes back to her hotel room without another word.

* * *

Another dozen weekly rankings later, Villanelle has cracked the top five, coming in at number four after stalling at six for several weeks. It should be cause for celebration, except they’ve just received her next matchup: Nadia Kadomsteva, currently number two in the rankings. She’s experienced, and well-rounded, and the whisper is, it won’t be long before she challenges the current champion of the division, Jin Ko, for the Women’s Bantamweight belt. Not one single betting guide or commentator favors Villanelle in this fight.

“Despite Villanelle’s meteoric rise, if there’s anyone who can stop this rapid ascent, it’s Nadia Kadomsteva,” one sports betting guide says. “She’s been hanging out within the top five for almost a year now, and my motto is, always bet on consistency over flash. Villanelle might be a casual fan’s favorite, but the educated viewer should place money on Kadomsteva.”

Eve slams her computer shut and shouts for Kenny. He’s already got their bags packed, and they’re about to head to the airport to catch their 9:00AM Miami for the fight tomorrow. Oksana said she had other plans and requested to take a separate flight, so she will meet them in Miami.

Oksana’s been taking a lot more independence lately. It’s a good thing, Eve rationalizes, that she no longer requires constant babysitting to prevent disaster, yet something about it also worries her. Perhaps Oksana has simply stabilized, outgrown whatever weird need to act out she had before. As a consequence, Eve hasn’t had to resort to a “late night session” in weeks – maybe months. She pretends she doesn’t remember how long it’s been, though a tiny voice in the back of her head says, _“five weeks, three days.”_

It would be too easy to spend the entire plane ride musing about Oksana’s behavior, so Eve dons headphones and an eye-mask despite it being morning, then pretends she’s trying to rest while putting on heavy metal to blast the thoughts out of her head. It’s no use worrying about Oksana’s lack of disasters; she should be thankful for that. Worry instead about her opponent, with a remarkably well-rounded skillset and no obvious weaknesses.

She checks into the hotel and sits in the lobby lounge for the afternoon, waiting for Oksana to arrive. Her flight was supposed to touch down an hour after Eve and Kenny’s, so it shouldn’t take long. Eve tries not to worry when an hour comes and goes and Oksana hasn’t appeared.

Afternoon melts into evening, and Eve’s one drink at the hotel restaurant turns into three and dinner. She’s finishing her stupidly overpriced steak (fuck it, she’s doing a good job, doesn’t she deserve to treat herself?) when Kenny walks by.

“Have you been sitting here this whole time?”

“No,” Eve says. “Yes.” Maybe the third drink caught up with her. “Sit. You want a steak, or five?”

Kenny sits, though ignores the other question. “You seem … preoccupied.”

“I’m not preoccupied. That’s another word for ‘worried’, and why would I be worried that I haven’t heard from my fighter, and I’m not sure if she’s even in the state, less than twenty-one hours before her fight?”

“You haven’t?” Kenny furrows his brow. “Oksana’s flight got in two hours ago. She texted me.”

“Why hasn’t she come to check into her room?”

“Said she was going out to dinner with a friend.”

“She texted you _all that_ ,” Eve growls.

“I’m guessing she did not forward that message to you.”

“Give the kid a prize.”

“Now you know. There’s nothing wrong. You can relax.”

“Something’s _very_ wrong if she’s not communicating with me.” Eve should’ve known something was up. Of course it wasn’t the universe interfering in the form of a flight delay or other accident; of course it was just Oksana being Oksana and making Eve’s life stressful for no reason. She was overdue for something like this.

Kenny looks down at the tablecloth and starts picking at his nailbeds.

“I can tell you wanna say something,” Eve says. “Go ahead.”

“You know why she does things like this,” Kenny says quietly. “It’s because she wants attention.”

Eve lets out a guffaw. “Like she doesn’t have enough of that already.”

“Sorry if I’m out of line, but I’m watching the two of you all the time. Can you remember the last time you spared more than two words for positive reinforcement? Because I can’t.”

“That’s not true…” Though as Eve goes over her memories of the past several months, she realizes Kenny is right. After that first fight, once Eve thought she’d finally got a handle on Oksana’s behavior, she was relieved to ease up on her control. As Oksana seemed to learn to handle herself with less heavy guidance, Eve stepped back and stopped questioning her… and maybe also stopped praising her.

“She wants a reaction,” Kenny says. “From _you_. And she only gets that when she’s bad.”

With a sinking feeling, Eve realizes Kenny doesn’t know just how correct he is. Eve said, so many months ago… _“I’m not opposed to incentives”_ … but she only ever resorted to said “incentive” after Oksana screwed up.

It’s her own fault. She conditioned Oksana to act out by rewarding her for bad behavior.

“Oh my god,” Eve groans. “So, what, I have to sit her down now and explain to her that is not going to fly anymore?”

“You can tell her now.” Kenny nods behind them, and Eve turns to see Oksana strolling across the strolling across the lobby, chatting raucously in Russian with her companion. Her companion whom Eve recognizes. Her companion, who is Nadia Kadomsteva, ranked number two in the division, and Oksana’s opponent tomorrow night.

They’re so deep in conversation, they don’t notice Eve and Kenny, so Eve has no choice but to call out to her. “Oksana!”

At the sound of her name, Oksana turns, and steers Nadia over towards the restaurant area. She smiles. “Good evening. Nadia, this is my manager and coach, Eve. Eve, this is–”

“I know who she is,” Eve says. Then, after a pointed glance from Kenny, she softens. “Miss Kadomsteva, your reputation precedes you. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Nadia says, though her tone doesn’t seem to indicate it.

“I’m glad you made it in,” Eve says.

“Yes.” Oksana shrugs. “Just heading up to my room, now.”

“Going to bed already?” Eve raises an eyebrow. “Both of you?”

“Do you need something?” Oksana’s head snaps to Eve, a mask of innocence.

Eve opens her mouth, but Kenny clears his throat, and she reconsiders her tactic. “No,” Eve says sweetly. “I hope you get some good rest.”

Then, as Oksana takes a step, she considers what Kenny said. _Positive reinforcement._ Eve blurts out, “I just wanted to say, you did really well at that Nike campaign yesterday. Really good job.”

“Okay,” Oksana wrinkles her brow, then turns, walking towards the elevator. Her hand at the small of Nadia’s back. Eve watches them go until the elevator doors close.

* * *

Lying in bed, Eve makes a note to always call ahead whenever they book hotels in the future and make sure her room is never again next door to Oksana’s – or even on the same floor. She doesn’t get much sleep that night. As if the mere stress of wondering what Oksana was getting up to wouldn’t be enough to keep her up, she would be woken by the noise. She sandwiches her head between two pillows, but it’s not enough to block out Nadia’s moaning.

This is too far.

Eve’s glad that Kenny called her out. She cannot, under any circumstances, reward Oksana for this. It’s the end of the road.

And there’s still a fight that night.

* * *

Thank God for Kenny.

After he encountered a ranting, frothing, sleep-deprived Eve at the breakfast buffet, he steered her back to bed and promised that he’d run Oksana through her normal fight-day prep. In a soothing tone, he promised to have room service send a Chicken Caesar Salad up to Eve at lunchtime and all she’d have to do is relax and meet Oksana at the venue.

Shit, he’s a good fucking assistant.

So Eve gets a chance to cool off. By the time she greets Oksana in the locker room that evening, she’s chilled to a temperate three hundred degrees, and refined what she needs to say down to one simple, clear criticism.

Oksana’s hardly had a chance to drop her bag to the floor before Eve’s on her. “What are you thinking, sleeping with your opponent? It’s hideously unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Oksana snorts. “Like touching your client?” She scrunches up her face and adopts a faux whimpering tone. “Officer, it all happened so fast. She pinned me down and her hand was in my shorts!”

Eve slams a hand over Oksana’s mouth and glances around the room. Fortunately, it’s mostly empty, only two other fighters are around, and they don’t seem to have heard. She and Oksana have never openly discussed their “arrangement”, not even in private. Of course Oksana picks the worst possible time to bring it up.

“Don’t say another word,” Eve says, and pulls her hand away.

“Physically accosting me when I threaten to come forward,” Oksana tuts. “Wait until ‘Me Too’ gets ahold of you, Eve.”

“Don’t fucking joke about something that would destroy your and my careers,” Eve hisses. “Look. I’m sorry if I’m not rewarding your good behavior or whatever, but now is not the time to fuck around. You’ve done good these past seven months, alright? Is that what you want to hear? You’ve done really fucking amazing, better than any other client I’ve had, better than maybe anyone ever. You’re special. And you’re so fucking close to the top. So I don’t know what else to do at this point. Please, don’t fuck it up now.”

Oksana smirks as she undresses into her fight getup.

“You are cute when you beg.”

“I’m not begging.”

“You are a little.”

“I said ‘please’.”

Oksana sits down on the bench and sighs. “Relax. I’ve got this under control.” She lets her hair down from its ponytail and doesn’t say another word while Eve does her braids. It’s not until Eve finishes the first braid and starts on the second that she fully clocks that she came in intending to chew Oksana out, and ended up begging and then surrendering.

“I was thinking,” Eve says. “About something you asked me once.”

“Oh?”

“About my longest relationship,” Eve says as she plaits one lock of hair over another. “With a client? I checked the math and, as of this month? It’s you.”

“Wow,” Oksana says. “Time flies, huh?”

“Yes, it does.”

In the warmup room, Eve runs Oksana through her paces. Now that the tension between them is oddly diffused, the only thing left to worry about is the fight. Eve’s not sure if Oksana’s grappling is up to snuff for this matchup, and she definitely doesn’t want to think about the _grappling_ Oksana and Nadia got up to last night.

“I want to talk through the strategy,” Eve says, while Oksana warms up on the heavy bag. “Do you remember the beats we went over? All the contingencies?”

“Of course I do.” Oksana rolls her eyes, as she slows down.

It’s almost time for her fight. Time to leave.

Oksana beckons Eve towards the door, while the edges of her mouth play at a smile. She seems wildly overconfident for someone facing her toughest fight yet.

“You will see. I have strategy too, Eve.”

As they walk out ringside, Eve spots Nadia entering on the opposite side of the arena. The previous fight is finishing up, and the spotlight’s not on them yet, so Nadia smiles and tries to catch Oksana’s eye.

Oksana turns aside, like she can’t even see Nadia. Eve watches in horror while Nadia continues to wave, trying in vain to get Oksana to see her. Then, she finally puts two and two together, and her face melts into despair.

The fight wraps up and the announcers welcome Nadia and Villanelle. As the two enter the octagon, Eve can only watch in horrified fascination as Oksana’s “strategy” unfolds. Nadia’s visibly distressed already, but Oksana remains cool as a cucumber. As they square up for the first round, Nadia’s mouth moves – she’s saying something to Oksana, and the crowd is far too loud for Eve to be able to make it out, but it looks like pleading. Then Oksana replies, something incredibly brief, and most likely devastating, judging from the way Nadia shatters right as the bell rings to signal the start of the first round.

Nadia doesn’t get her guard up in time, but that brief opening is all Oksana needs. She attacks immediately, letting out a flurry of punches and kicks that would wear down any opponent, let alone an emotionally devastated one. Within ten seconds, she has Nadia on the floor, and within thirty, the referee is pulling Oksana off of beaten, bloody Nadia and declaring a technical knockout.

Oksana runs to the side of the cage to greet Eve, hardly sweating, and proud as ever. “What did you think?”

Eve is a little aghast, and a little impressed, and altogether, speechless.

The crowd, of course, loves it. Villanelle already has a solid fan following, but after tonight, there will be more. A first-round knockout against a highly ranked fighter is sure to win over a large chunk of her detractors.

Eve looks out at the crowd. Their incoherent roar soon coalesces into a clear chant: “VIL-LA-NELLE! VIL-LA-NELLE!”

Suddenly, Eve’s seized up into a memory, and she’s back in that sushi restaurant the day she first signed Oksana. _“You want the masses chanting your name.”_

This is fame. True, honest-to-God fame.

Nadia’s helped out of the ring by a couple medical staffers while Oksana saunters off to the sidelines to join Eve while they prep for the next fight. “Well, coach, what do you want me to say about that in the interview?”

“Oh, I don’t think you need my guidance,” Eve says, her voice coming out a little higher and breathier than she means. “I think you’re doing pretty well on your own.”

“Maybe sometimes I _like_ your guidance. Did you ever think of that?”

“No,” Eve says, quite honestly.

“Seriously. Give me a good line to work in there. I want that special ‘Eve’ sparkle.” Oksana nudges Eve on the shoulder.

“I don’t think you need it,” Eve mumbles. _Positive Reinforcement._ What else can she offer? “That line you gave at the _MMA World_ interview was really punchy.”

“What line?”

“Oh, she asked you something about what your ‘secret’ is,” Eve says, cheeks growing warm. “Put you on the spot, but you threw together something good.”

“That was months ago,” Oksana says, crinkling her brow. “How can you even remember that?”

“It’s my job.” Eve says, but suddenly the room feels rather hot. “Look, I trust you, alright? Go ahead. I’ll be getting some air.”

Eve walks outside and makes a lap of the parking lot before coming back.

Something very strange is going on, and she doesn’t know what.

That’s a lie. She knows what’s going on, but it’s too awful to even consider.

She goes back inside, hoping that maybe the din of the crowd will drown out the noise in her head.

Eve makes it just in time to see the end of Oksana’s post-fight interview. “That just about wraps it up, congratulations, Villanelle!”

“Wait,” Oksana says, grabbing at the microphone. “Can I add something?”

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“People sometimes ask me the secret to my success,” Oksana says, spinning slowly as if she’s making eye contact with the entire crowd. “There are a lot of factors, of course. But mostly it comes from one place. I have a very special relationship with my manager-coach.”

Then she looks right at Eve.

The crowd doesn’t quite know what to do with this. It’s not funny; it’s not dramatic. The interviewer recovers from the awkward end and congratulates Oksana one more time before dismissing her.

And in spite of herself, Eve feels… something.

And it’s good.

And it’s _bad_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget, cool jamz at the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/17Cr1pfnZSlQ8Sydhcsmo3) for this fic!
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo


	8. Coming To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve prepares Oksana for her hardest challenge yet as she earns the right to fight for the championship belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy, this fic turned out a lot harder to write than I thought it would be! can't believe I started this one on a whim. Can't believe I'm finishing it eight months later. Here goes.

Oksana Astankova, better known as “Villanelle”, is number one in the Women’s Bantamweight rankings. The woman herself receives this news with a shrug, and strangely enough, it’s Eve who’s unable to contain her excitement. A few expletive-laden cheers and suggestive dances across the gym later, Kenny finally talks Eve down, though he suggests they order a bottle of champagne to pop at lunch, after a morning of training.

It took just over nine months since her debut for her to reach this point. Grueling training sessions. Hours in the weight room. Days of stuffing herself with high-protein foods or eating and drinking nothing at all to make weight.

All this, and yet her journey is not done. One obstacle remains between her and the prize she seeks: the current champion, Jin Ko. To call Ko a formidable opponent is an understatement. She has seen defeats before, in her long career, but she has come back from every single one stronger than before. Her tendency to hang around even after apparent defeat, combined with her eerily light movements in the ring, have earned her the nickname “The Ghost”.

In an interview posted to _MMA World_ ’s Youtube Channel, the current champion addresses the news of her newest challenge.

Ko is a relatively small, yet wiry and sturdy woman. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she wears a plain gray sweatsuit.

“Are you nervous about defending your title?”

“No,” Jin says coolly. “I’ve done it many times before.”

Next to Eve, Oksana squirms for a better look at the phone.

“You’re not at all intimidated by how quickly Villanelle has risen through the ranks? Or by her undefeated record? Her array of impressive knockouts?”

“I have been in this sport for a long time. I have seen many upstarts who looked as bright as this one. The time comes, and they either fizzle out, or collapse in on themselves, like a supernova.”

Oksana scoffs. “Supernovas are really fucking bright and cool and everyone loves them.”

A trip around the typical outlets gives a clear idea of the narrative around the match. “This matchup may settle one of the greatest debates in the history of athletics,” one commentator says. “Ko has been a fixture in this division for as long as it has existed, and held the championship belt for three separate stints and defended her title a cumulative seven times. Most who dare to challenge her go home regretting it. But Villanelle is hardly an ordinary challenger. Could she unseat The Ghost, one of the fixtures of this sport, and in the process, provide an answer to the age-old debate of Youth versus Experience? Tune in to UFC 273 to find out.”

* * *

Things are different, now that victory is within sight. The proximity to the belt has settled in for both Eve and Oksana, and pacified them.

Kenny makes no comment on the change, though Eve notes that he often stares at the two of them working together with a placid, borderline-condescending smile on his face.

Why should it be such news that a coach and a fighter are getting along? Maybe because the real reason isn’t just due to having a shot at the Championship.

Something else changed that night that Oksana defeated Nadia Kadomsteva. Something impossible to label, but equally impossible to ignore.

No more “late-night sessions” since then; there hasn’t been a need, since Oksana has been… good. Patient, obedient, dedicated. Eve remembered what Kenny warned her about, though, and she’s made an effort to invest in positive reinforcement, instead. It came out stilted and awkward, at first, but practice improves any skill, and Eve finds herself complimenting Oksana with relative fluency these days.

“Nicely done,” she says after one warmup. “You’re executing that armbar escape better and better every time.”

Oksana shrugs off these compliments, but it doesn’t escape Eve how she carries herself around the gym floor with a bit more swagger, for the next ten minutes or so.

Kenny made a good point, after all.

With every other opponent, Eve has had a solid gameplan to prep Oksana for the match. Eve could watch the tape, find the weak points.

Jin has none. She’s been in the sport so long, there’s an abundance of tape on her, but perhaps an over-abundance. There’s so much to cover, it almost ceases to be helpful… she’s lost before, but there’s no trend. Each loss, she learned from and came back stronger.

Every potential weakness is really a strength in Jin’s capable hands. She’s shorter than Oksana, with a smaller reach, but her lower center of gravity makes her a huge threat for takedowns, and helps protect her from the same. The fact that she’s a decane and a half older than Oksana might imply a disadvantage in speed or agility or strength, but the fact is, Jin’s bursting with vitality. Even if she’s slowed a bit over the years, her strategy has adapted to perfectly suit her current situation. She never stagnates; she constantly has new assets in her arsenal in every single fight. She wields her experience like a weapon; she wears her age like armor.

Unlike Nadia, Jin will not be susceptible to any emotional or mind games, either. She’s a consummate professional. A blank slate in public. Unreadable and unflappable.

As Eve explains each detail, she expects Oksana to, well, _be Oksana_ , and supply backsass or rebuttals for each warning that Eve gives.

Instead, while they sit on the couch watching film, Oksana watches studiously. She nods at each explanation. One day, she even brings a notebook.

“What’s that for?”

“Shh,” Oksana says.

Eve is not entirely sure if she’s truly writing down anything related to fight preparation, or if this is part of some elaborate role-play of a model student she’s performing solely to humor Eve. She could very well be doodling breasts all over that notebook.

“You’re awfully quiet during film sessions lately.”

“I’m watching.”

“After nine months, you’ve really taken an interest,” Eve muses with mock surprise.

“I want to win,” Oksana says.

And it’s as simple as that.

* * *

“Kenny, I have a job for you.”

“I know, we need more Kinesio tape, I already put it on the list for my next stock-up run.”

“No,” Eve says. “Come here.”

Kenny walks over to join her by the counter, wary. Eve opens her laptop, and turns it toward Kenny.

“I want you to be matchmaker.”

An essential part of Eve’s preparation for her fighters is what she calls “Matchmaking”. Eve reached out to her circle, her friends and clients and clients of friends and friends of clients, to find other fighters who were a close match, size and style wise, for Oksana’s next opponent. Over the last few months, she had demonstrated this process to Kenny several times.

“Are you sure?” Kenny says. “Isn’t it kind of important, this time around? I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t,” Eve says. “I know you can do it. And I’ll be here if you need help.”

Kenny nods, and takes the laptop. He begins scrolling through all of Eve’s contacts, occasionally pausing to think, or to open a browser window and type in a fighter’s history, or to compare their stats to Jin’s.

“Well, that’s the lot of them,” Kenny says, after scrolling to the end of the list. “I think there’s a clear answer.”

“Who–” Eve stops, realizing what Kenny means by the look on his face. “No.”

“You taught me how to find the perfect match,” Kenny says. “And I’m looking right at her.”

“There’s got to be someone…”

“There’s not,” Kenny says. “You must’ve known, on some level. Age, style, build, experience – no one else is so close a comparison.”

“I was afraid of this.”

“No avoiding it now.” Kenny smirks at her. That boy never smirks.

Eve grabs a bottle of water and takes a big sip, to prepare herself. This could be very painful.

* * *

Eve strips down to shorts and a sports bra, which she rarely does when working with Oksana. Usually she’ll keep on leggings and a t-shirt, or a sweatsuit. Most of the time, even when she’d hop in for a brief spar, that was fine.

But today, she’s going to do more than break a light sweat.

This is more than any mere sparring session. This is Oksana’s best chance to prepare for her title bout.

Eve had told Kenny to deliver the news of her matchmaking opponent, both as a chance for him to take charge, and also so she wouldn’t have to bear the inevitable hysterical disbelief from Oksana when she found out she’d face her seventeen-year-older coach in the ring.

Besides, Eve needs a moment to herself to prepare. It’s been quite a while since she had a fight with so much on the line.

She ties her hair in a tight bun, not unlike Jin’s signature style. Fitting, since she’s here to play a part. Then, she re-enters the gym, adds her handwraps and gloves, and steps into the ring to square up across from Oksana.

“This is just like the day you made me audition for you,” Oksana says, raising her fists.

“In some ways,” Eve says. “But I don’t want you to hold back, today.”

“I wasn’t–”

“I said, don’t hold back,” Eve snaps.

Kenny sits silently outside the ring. He has been directed to intervene as an official UFC referee would, in case of foul (though Eve hopes she’s trained Oksana enough by now to avoid that), or knockout.

They release and begin the fight. At first, Eve tries to occupy Jin Ko’s headspace. _Imagine you’re the reigning champ…_ she tells herself. _You have nothing to prove, but everything to lose_ … She tries to mimic the light, almost weightless movements around the ring she’s seen on tape, the quick dodges, the hefty blows.

But as she trades strikes with Oksana, it feels wrong. And what’s more, she’s not doing very well, taking several hits right off the bat. She’s not so weightless; she’s feeling her age.

 _I’m too in my head_ … she thinks, as Oksana launches a punch that clips the side of her temple. Case in point. It rocks Eve off kilter; shorts something in her brain. But this shortage sets her free.

Enough playing a part. Eve can try to be Jin all she likes, but of course she isn’t. Oksana will fight Jin in three days. Now, she is fighting Eve.

With renewed energy, Eve launches an offensive. Against all odds, this catches Oksana off guard, and Eve backs her up across the ring with a series of well-timed jabs and shin kicks.

Eve experiences her own attack in slow motion, so even as she charges at Oksana with punch after punch, she watches the scene, like a movie. She wants to lean over and ask, _“Why are you surprised? Is it so shocking that I might really try? That I might really fight? After all we’ve been through?”_

Through this new onslaught, Eve backs Oksana up against the wall and gets several good hits in. Her instincts war between _don’t do unnecessary damage that she’ll have to heal from_ , and _finish her_.

The predatory instinct wins out, as Eve lets out a flurry of quick hits. Soon, however, Oksana manages to break Eve’s grip and throws her back with a grunt, though Eve already notes the area around her eye is starting to tint purple.

Oksana bares her teeth and charges, keeping her momentum to fall upon Eve once more and reclaim the upper hand. Two jabs that land with painful thuds on Eve’s biceps, then she wraps Eve in a clinch. She never stops moving, pulling Eve in a wide arc, never letting up. They’ve circled at least once, twice by now. Eve’s starting to get dizzy.

In her struggle to break free, Eve ducks low, but Oksana trips her. Eve grabs at Oksana’s knee, and they both go down to the mat.

Eve makes her way on top first, but Oksana grips around her too, restricting her movements. Eve remembers teaching Oksana that very counter. It took her almost a full afternoon to master – an unusually long time, compared to Oksana’s typical learning speed. Eve keeps pulling at Oksana’s guard, but it’s no use. She’s locked in like iron.

It’s only a matter of time before Eve’s strength begins to wane, and Oksana manages to get on top.

As promised, she doesn’t hold back. She hits Eve over and over. Fists rain on her like meteors.

Eve _knew_ Oksana was holding out on her in that first fight…

But Eve isn’t giving up, yet. She’s been at this a long time, and still has a few tricks left. She drops her guard for a second, and rocks her head back. For a brief moment, she catches a freeze-frame of beautiful confusion on Oksana’s face, before she rockets her head forward and throws their foreheads together. Skulls collide with a spine-tingling _boom_.

The headbutt rattles Oksana enough to loosen her grip, and Eve starts to crawl free, though her own head is ringing too. Even amongst this, her inner monologue wars with itself… How can she risk giving her own fighter a concussion? It’s wildly irresponsible, though the truth is, none of that matters to Eve anymore. All that matters is survival. All that matters is winning.

It’s not long before Oksana recovers, wrapping a hand around Eve’s ankle while she crawls away. Eve tries to kick her away, but her reach is too wide and her grip is too strong. She gets ahold of Eve’s other leg, and like she’s climbing up Eve’s body, pulls her closer again. They grapple on the floor in a tangled mess of limbs, until Oksana ends up mounting Eve yet again.

Eve rolls her shoulders. Bucks her hips. Tries to use her core strength to roll to the side, throw Oksana off balance. Every single escape attempt is anticipated and shut down. Oksana prioritizes keeping her pinned foe controlled, fitting in light blows all the meanwhile.

In that moment, Eve realizes she isn’t getting free. Oksana realizes it too.

This is where it would be logical and natural for Eve to tap the mat for submission.

She does not.

Eve’s arms, shoulders, and face take blow after blow, but the pain is removed from her, somehow. Like there’s a gap, some empty space, between where she feels the impact, and her brain.

Then, it stops. Eve blinks her eyes open… at least, she tries, though finds that her right eye must be swollen shut. In her limited view, she makes out Oksana standing above her, a giant in forced perspective. Slowly, Eve’s vision focuses on the figure dominating the foreground, Kenny bent over her, staring into her eyes.

“Eve? Are you with us?”

Eve groans and hoists herself into a sitting position.

“Thank god,” Kenny says. “You were out for a few seconds. I was about to call for a doctor – and maybe…”

“No,” Eve says. “I’m alright. Or, I will be, after an ice pack.”

Kenny nods and scampers out of the ring, to fulfill the request.

“And an espresso.”

Kenny vanishes out the door. Eve reaches up to her face and gingerly prods around her eye socket. Her right eye is probably black, now, and the skin over her eyebrow smarts at even the lightest touch, promising a sizable bruise from her audacious headbutt maneuver.

Her depth perception is still a bit fuzzy with one eye open, but she can sense as something else enters her foreground. A hand. Oksana looks down at her, no gloating, nor apologizing. Simply offering assistance. She helps Eve to her feet, but says nothing.

She’s waiting.

Maybe Eve’s brain was a bit rattled after all, for it took her several seconds to catch up. Oksana has helped up her opponent, as is respectful after a fight. But now she’s waiting for her coach to tell her how she did.

“You’re ready.”

Oksana doesn’t have any snarky comment or indignant retort.

People can change, it seems.

* * *

A few more interviews. Another weigh-in. No flights or hotel bookings necessary, this time, since this event is being held close by, in Anaheim. Ordinarily, a women’s matchup would be early in the night, even with a championship title on the line, but the online hype is unmatched, so thanks to Carolyn putting up a good fight with the other executives, the Women’s Bantamweight title bout will be the penultimate matchup.

Oksana twitches her nose and drums her fingers. This is how she lets out her nervous energy when she has to sit still for her hair to be done. Eve knows these tics well by now. “How many times have we done this?” she asks

“You don’t know your own record?” The kind of response Eve would’ve fired like a sniper shot, a few months ago, but now, it’s a gentle nudge as she ties off one braid. “Nine times.”

“It feels like more than that.”

Eve finishes the other braid in silence.

Then, Oksana spins around to look up at her. “Any last-minute reminders?”

“No.”

“Really? Usually you are a chatterbox right about now. Trying to repeat every single strategy we talked about in training…”

“Not this time.” Eve sighs. “I think you’re as ready as you possibly can be.”

“I don’t like this,” Oksana says. “Give me old Eve back.”

“Are you saying you want me to make something up? Repeat something you already know?”

Oksana nods solemnly.

“Watch out for her straight jab and shin kicks,” Eve says. “Oh! And remember how to execute the escape from side control; you can use that to leverage your own takedown. Remember it’s a long game; five rounds, you should always prioritize protecting yourself over an extra hit. Don’t give her even the tiniest window to score a knockout, just trust yourself, get points where you can, and let it go to the judges. Oh, and–”

“That’s enough,” Oksana says.

“Well…”

Oksana stands. She looks at herself in the mirror. Blinks. Lifts her chin, looks to either side, checking her jawline and profile. Luckily, she’s recovered fully from the damage Eve inflicted in the gym a few days ago. No evidence remains of their practice bout except for a small patch of pink in the space between Oksana’s eyebrows, which almost vanishes as she scrunches her brows together.

“Something wrong?” Eve asks.

“Beautiful,” Oksana says, in an oddly disapproving tone. Then she shakes her head and walks away, towards the entrance to the arena.

A wave of cheers erupts from the other room. Another fight has ended. It’s time.

* * *

It’s not so dramatic, letting Oksana out of her sight, now. Eve doesn’t have to worry about what trouble Oksana will cause when left unsupervised for a few minutes. She almost misses the worry. Now, she has a few minutes to kill for herself. Dead space, where she must distract herself from how completely impotent she is to affect the outcome from this moment on.

Eve loops back through the locker room, hands itching at her sides. She makes a lap doing a cursory tidy of the room. Stray gloves back in the basket. Shorts and underwear back in lockers. Most of it belongs to fighters Eve’s never so much as spoken to, but she’ll clean up their things if they can’t do it themselves.

As she passes by the mirror, she pauses. Her more significant injuries from the fight have mostly healed, but there’s still a faint red ring around her right eye – she’ll have to cover that up better before the party. And, of course, the afterimage of an angry reddish-purple bruise in the gap between her eyebrows. A reminder that she fought her hardest, and she lost.

God, those bags under her eyes are darker than ever. And a few wrinkles are starting to accumulate around the edges… Eve knows she looks good for her age, and she’s damn proud of it, but even for her, time doesn’t stop.

Finally, she takes a deep breath, and braces herself for entering the noise and light and heat of the arena. Not that many eyes are on her, but no matter how long she works in this field, the fever pitch of an excited crowd at an MMA event will always be a lot for an introvert like Eve.

She’s reached an inner zen, and all she has to do is reach her front row seat.

“Eve Polastri!”

Of course.

Konstantin saunters through the crowd. Dressed in a heavy wool coat, despite the warmth in the crowded room. He marches right up to Eve. “It is good to see you, again.”

“Get out of here before I call security,” Eve hisses. Skip the niceties.

“That will not be necessary.” Konstantin raises his hands, palms out. “I am not here for business. I am here to spectate. I bought a ticket.”

“Really. You flew all the way back here just to watch. You don’t get pay-per-view in Russia?”

“I know Oksana is not coming back to me,” Konstantin says. “I could not give her up without a fight. But I see now, that she has moved on to something new. I want to watch her. Because she is the best.”

Konstantin gives an awkward sort of smile, before shuffling off towards the second tier of seats. A pang of sympathy flows through Eve. Of course she’d been conditioned to not like Konstantin, when he was her rival, here to steal back his old client. Now, while she watches him retreat, she notes the defeated sag in his shoulders. She remembers how much it hurts to have a client abandon you. To outgrow you. It happened to her enough times. A coach without a fighter is like a conductor without an orchestra. Void of purpose.

He at least seems to be handling it better than Eve would, though. It’s sweet, in a way, that he’s here to support her. Hopefully, Oksana will make it worth his trip.

Then, there’s nothing left for Eve to do, but take her seat and wait.

* * *

Five rounds.

Five brutal rounds.

Eve hates this. Most people think the fighter has the tougher job, and technically, of course that’s true. But those people clearly haven’t known the pain of the coach standing outside the cage, forced to watch the most important fight of her client’s career, powerless and unable to intervene.

She can only watch. And hope. And trust.

Each blow on Oksana’s skin resonates. At one point, when she takes a nasty kick to the face, Eve raises a finger to her own nose, instinctively, as if checking for blood.

Those twenty-five minutes are the longest of her life.

The wait while the judges evaluate their scores is even longer.

The three second pause before the announcer reveals the winner feels even longer.

* * *

The noise around them is deafening. It’s like living in a jet engine. It’s like being inside the subwoofer at a Metallica concert. It’s like the physical manifestation of the THX sound. Eve’s head starts ringing. All her physical instincts tell her to leave the room, the building, and possibly the state to escape from the overwhelming air pressure, but luckily, her legs manage to stand, to carry her inside the ring, to the eye of the storm.

People start swarming the ring, like iron filaments drawn to a magnet. Oksana is the pole of the magnet, of course. In five seconds flat, she’s swallowed up.

Eve takes a step back. She doesn’t need to add to the suffocating crowd. She’ll get a moment later.

But an arm pokes free from the jostling sea of bodies. Then a shoulder. Then a face, black eyes and bloody nose and all. Oksana is shoving her way through the wall of bodies. Is she overwhelmed by the crowd? Is she about to lose her cool, ready to lash out?

Eve’s brain goes into hyper-speed, trying to calculate the best approach to soothe the clearly overwhelmed, newly-minted champion and keep her from accidentally punching a reporter or swearing on a hot mic.

Turns out, it’s not necessary.

As soon as Oksana breaks free from the crushing crowd around her, she heads directly for Eve.

And pulls Eve into her arms.

Nothing could have prepared Eve for the absolute tight, crushing, bear hug. It shouldn’t feel this odd. She’s had plenty of contact with Oksana. They’ve had arms around each other in every possible configuration, grappling with each other. Not once have they _hugged_.

Suddenly, just as quickly as she broke through, Oksana’s gone again. Three reporters have teamed up and hooking into her, using their microphones like cattle prods to steer Oksana away from Eve. She belongs to the press, now, and Eve has to let her go.

She doesn’t need Eve to whisper in her ear, anymore. She knows how to carry herself and what to say. Eve’s work as a coach was done, and now her work as a manager is done too.

Eve stands adrift in the octagon long after everyone else has cleared out.

* * *

The party’s one of the best they’ve had in a while. It’s like they _knew_ there’d be a new champion tonight, and they spruced things up accordingly. The champagne is a little more sparkling. The ice sculptures are a little more grandiose. And the guests are dressed not to the nines, but to the _tens_. Eve is dressed in a stunning blue gown she bought last week in preparation. Nicer than anything else she owns, yet she still feels underdressed.

Though Eve hasn’t caught sight of her since the ring, she still knows exactly where Oksana is. She’s the center of the densely packed crowd; the focal point of all the camera flashes.

Everyone is around Villanelle. She’s Villanelle, now, even outside the ring. She may well be Villanelle forever, after tonight.

“There’s the woman of the hour.”

Eve instinctively snorts as she turns to greet Carolyn. “No, she’s over there,” she gestures with her champagne glass towards the mass of people in the center of the room.

She raises her glass to Eve. “You did it, Eve Polastri. In record time. You were right, she’s something special.”

“That she is.”

“It may be lost on the general public how difficult your job is and the insane feat that you pulled off these past ten months,” Carolyn says. “But I wanted you to know, at least one person in this room is sincerely humbled by your prowess. You’re something special, too.”

“I know.” Eve rubs the stem of her glass up and down.

Carolyn fixes Eve with her patented x-ray stare. “Why so glum?”

“These past ten months I haven’t had a single break. Now, finally, I can rest. I think I’m gonna go home, take a nice bath, and go to bed. Let her have her moment.”

Eve tucks her clutch under her arm and works on her last bit of her champagne. As she heads for the door, she bumps into someone. “Sorry,” she mutters, but as soon as she sees who it is, she wishes she could rescind her polite apology.

“Ahh, congratulations, Ms. Polastri,” Konstantin stays with a warm smile. “It seems you are a greater coach than I realized.”

“Look, it was nice of you to come watch the fight,” Eve says, trying to keep her most peaceful tone. “But you’re really not supposed to crash these parties without an invitation.”

Konstantin looks rather offended. “I have been invited.”

“Who invited _you_?”

“Oksana. Excuse me.” Konstantin slaps his forehead. “I mean, _Villanelle._ ”

Eve can’t believe it. She spares a look back, as if that will verify if Konstantin is lying. Right at that moment, the crowd parts affording her a clear snapshot of Oksana. She’s laughing, and basking in all the attention. All her fellow athletes are hyping her up, and the executives are toasting her as well for all the money she has brought in and will continue to bring in to the sport. Eve can only catch snatches of their words, but one cuts through clearly. “Villanelle”… “Villanelle”… “Villanelle.”

She’s theirs now. She’s Villanelle.

“Captivating, isn’t she?” Konstantin says, breaking Eve’s spell. “This reminds me so much of the night she won her gold medal.”

Eve doesn’t like the way he says it.

“Ah, I see you have put it together now,” Konstantin says. “Cheer up, Eve. Take comfort in the fact that once she moves on to another sport, she will still remember you. She will still say hello, when she sees you in the crowd. She will still invite you to the parties.”

Eve finishes her champagne and shoves the empty glass at the first caterer she sees.

* * *

Eve is a liar.

She does not go home, as she promised Carolyn.

Instead, she finds herself telling the Lyft driver to drop her off at her gym instead. Even as her legs carry her up four flights of stairs, she’s not sure why she’s here.

Her eyes scan over the dark, empty, room. This place where Eve built her career. Where she’s worked with countless clients. Where she spent most of her days over the past ten months with Oksana…

Two minutes later, her expensive dress is on the floor of the changing room and Eve’s in workout gear, wrapping her hands. She takes off her diamond earrings, ties her hair into a ponytail, and steps up to the heavy bag.

Jab-cross, jab-cross, straight, hook, uppercut. Eve unleashes every combination in her arsenal, then tries them all backwards and mirrored. Her hands ache, but she continues. Every frustration she’s felt over the past ten months, she throws into the bag with full force.

Tonight, she succeeded. Everything she did paid off. Everything was worthwhile. So why is she still so rueful, so full of regret?

It’s not over-over… Oksana will still have to defend her title… but why does it feel like an ending?

_Because it is._

The heavy bag isn’t enough. This canvas sack full of sand can’t feel pain, which is what Eve wants to inflict. She wants to make something, someone hurt as bad as she does.

Konstantin’s words keep replaying in Eve’s head. “Shut up,” she mutters, again and again, as she hits the bag, but it’s no use. They repeat on loop because he’s _right_.

Nine months. Every day felt like hitting a new wall, but somewhere along the line, Eve got to know Oksana pretty well. Well enough to see the truth in what Konstantin said. Oksana’s bound to move on. This sport can’t keep her satisfied for long. Now that the belt is hers, it’s a ticking clock until she sets her sights on a new prize.

Again, without knowing why, Eve climbs into the octagonal training ring. She paces and throws her guard up, as if readying for a fight. But there’s no one for her to spar with.

Eve is totally, utterly alone.

She slumps down to the mat, leans up against the chain-link wall of the octagon, and cries.

She isn’t sure how much time goes by. She’s very glad she opted not to turn the lights on, for she doesn’t want to even see herself. She doesn’t need any reminder that she exists now.

So much pushing. So many mistakes. So many reasons she shouldn’t have succeeded. And yet she did – no, Oksana did. Oksana succeeded in _spite_ of Eve. In spite of the manager who had a reputation for being severe to a fault and pushing clients away. In spite of the coach who crossed boundaries of propriety in order to soothe her own ego and feel in control. If only all those people at the party knew what Oksana really had to put up with behind closed doors, they’d love her even more.

Yet, a small part of Eve wishes she’d been even worse. Then perhaps Oksana wouldn’t have risen so quickly. Perhaps she wouldn’t have won the Championship tonight, and they’d still have work to do. She’d have more _time_.

She buries her head in her hands, wraps her hands around her knees, and curls up into a ball. If she gets small enough, maybe she’ll disappear.

“Leaving the lights off like this is bad for your eyes, you know.”

Eve stiffens. She recognizes the voice, of course, but she can’t pick up her head. Because if she’s really here, she can’t see Eve like this.

The voice again, closer this time. “Training for your debut?”

There’s no more delaying the inevitable. Eve lifts her head and blinks open her mascara-sticky eyes, adjusting to the dim light from the windows. There’s Oksana, in all her glory. In her crisp black suit with her hair cascading down her shoulders in perfect waves, leaning nonchalantly against the outside of the ring.

“What are you doing here?”

“Kenny has access to your Lyft account.”

“He asked you to come after me?”

“No.” Oksana strolls around to the entrance and steps into the ring. “I asked _him_ if he knew where you had disappeared to.”

“Shouldn’t you be partying with the upper crust? Everyone wants a piece of Villanelle.”

“Had enough,” Oksana shrugs. “And there’ll be more tomorrow.”

Of course, the crowd will still be excited tomorrow. Villanelle will still be champion tomorrow. The goal is accomplished. The belt is hers. Eve’s job is done.

Eve pulls herself to her feet and tries to wipe her nose in the most dignified way she can. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

Oksana takes a step forward, into a patch of dim moonlight streaming in from the window. The pale light caresses the curves of her face, like a painting in blues and grays From far away, her makeup obscures the injuries she sustained earlier in the night, but up close, Eve can see the black eye, the split lip… Everything it cost to get where she is. _It’s the truth of Oksana shining through the sheen of Villanelle,_ Eve thinks to herself. _How poetic_. Or is it the other way around?

“You owe me something.” Oksana clasps her hands in front of her. “I’ve come to collect.”

Eve sighs. There’s no use denying her this, now. “All right, then.”

Oksana steps forward, greedy as ever. She grabs Eve by the arm, a bit rough, but Eve counters and twists her by the wrist so she’s forced to release her grip. Eve doesn’t waste another second; she tackles, keeping her center of gravity low, and knocks Oksana to the floor.

Eve pitches her weight forward, pinning Oksana down. She has a small advantage here, being properly dressed for a fight, while Oksana’s tailored suit restricts her movement. Still, Eve knows not to underestimate the Champion. Oksana attempts a headbutt, but Eve holds her down with one hand while she puts her other up to her face. She takes the edge of the gauze wrap on her hand in her teeth and starts pulling it free, unwinding it sloppily until the gauze sits a pile on Oksana’s chest like a lazy snake.

Oksana continues to squirm, but she’s already been through five rounds tonight, and it shows. Besides, for all that she fights, she wants it this way. It’s part of the game, that she has to push back, but Eve wouldn’t be on top of her, wrenching her arms behind her back and tying them tight with the gauze wrap, if Oksana didn’t want it to happen.

With her hands tightly tied behind her, Oksana’s kneeling. Her face is already flushed with anticipation as Eve undoes her pants and inches her hand inside. She only has few words for Eve.

“Don’t hold back.”

It is freeing, in a way. Eve hadn’t realized how much their “sessions” over the past several months had left her hanging, unsatisfied, much as they had for Oksana. But she goes for it, driving everything she has into her right hand, while her other traces over Oksana’s collarbone. Her thumb fits perfectly into the hollow at Oksana’s clavicle. Then, down still, popping the buttons of her tailored button-down shirt like they’re snaps on a child’s jacket.

After so much teasing over so many months, climax is anticlimax, and Oksana’s pleasured cries as she rides out her orgasm on Eve’s fingertips die out almost as swiftly as they began.

It’s easy to withdraw. To sit back, take off her other handwrap, clean herself up. Eve expects Oksana to get dressed, now that she collected her prize. Even with her seemingly boundless energy, she must be exhausted by now.

“Go ahead,” Eve says. “You’re free to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You got what you came for,” Eve says. “You got the belt. You got me. There’s nothing left. You want to move on. I get it. No hard feelings.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Don’t bother sugarcoating it. I’ve gone through this plenty of times with other clients, remember? I’ll close out our contract in the morning. No reason your next coach needs to go through the headache I had over Konstantin.”

“Eve Polastri.” Oksana shakes her head and gives a long, low chuckle. It’s amazing how much she can own the room while on her knees, with her fly undone and shirt popped open, not to mention her hands tied behind her back. ”If you believe that I wanted you just one time, you are stupider than I thought.”

Eve’s heart stops.

It takes every drop of will in her being to regain her voice, but she manages. “Come here.”

Oksana sits forward on her knees. She inches across the mat, hands still bound behind her, shuffling forward awkwardly, one knee in front of the other. It’s the least graceful Eve has ever seen her move. Those suit pants are going to be ruined.

Eve grabs Oksana by the back of the head, and pulls her in for a kiss. It’s not until their mouths make contact that Eve processes this is a first, for them, but it’s too late to go back now. Barely half a second of Oksana’s lips, surprisingly soft, before Eve presses her tongue into Oksana’s mouth. No more wasting time; they’ve held off for so many months.

They continue to kiss furiously, while Eve pries herself out of her shorts. Then, Oksana breaks away – not that she’s sick of it, but she has other plans in mind. Immediately, she bends low, pressing her lips to Eve’s legs, leaving a trail of kisses along her calves, up to her knees.

Finally, around the thighs, she pauses, and looks up at Eve expectantly.

“What?”

“I’m not complaining, but…” Oksana chews on her lip, as if searching for the right way to deliver bad news. “You might like it better if I could use my hands for this next part.” She flexes her fingers.

Eve sits forward and reaches around Oksana to undo the binding on her wrists, and not a second later, Oksana takes control again. One hand on Eve’s shoulder, the other on the small of her back, dipping her low, back towards the mat, back towards the wall of the ring, while Oksana looms above on her hands and knees.

Eve leans her torso back, with her hands on the mat behind her to prop herself up, and angles her pelvis forward. Oksana prostrates herself, as if bowing before God, and places her mouth on Eve.

This is a new side of Oksana, one that she’s never shown before, or rather, one that Eve hasn’t allowed her to show until now. She’s powerful, but also gentle. None of the desperate scrambling for dominance from before. She’s no threat now. Her grip is strong, but protective. She’s merely loyal, but not subservient. Assertive, but not domineering.

Not what Eve ever would’ve asked for, or even accepted, from anyone else, in any other moment but this. Yet, she finds herself allowing it to proceed.

It’s not just a mistake, nor a “management tactic”… it’s… something new.

As Oksana’s tongue dips through her folds, Eve’s fingers tighten in Oksana’s hair… let down over her shoulders, just the way it was that first night they met. Eve’s had her hands in this hair so many times, braiding it before each fight, but this is different. Everything about this is same-but-different. Her and Oksana, on top of each other in the ring – but not sparring. Her and Oksana, doing dirty in the dark – but it’s not Oksana crying out in pain, in pleasure; it’s Eve. Eve hasn’t heard herself make a sound like the ones she’s making in years. _Years_.

Oksana switches to sucking on Eve’s clit, repositioning herself to slide two fingers inside of Eve at the same time.

Same-but-different. Eve knew it from when she first met Oksana. On some level. Cellular, molecular. She knew that this was not going to be like her relationships with other clients. She thought, for a long time, that the difference was because of Oksana’s talent. Eve’s never been one to readily admit when she’s wrong, but there isn’t much rebuttal she can make when she’s busy gasping up to the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, Oksana is good at many things besides martial arts.

“How is it?” Oksana demands, as she comes up for air. All heavy breaths, hot and clammy on Eve’s skin.

“Don’t stop.” Eve’s brain searches for words as her fingers search for purchase on the mat, the chain-link walls of the ring, anything to grip onto. Positive reinforcement. “God, please don’t stop.”

And she obeys. One hand holding tight around Eve’s thigh, bordering on painful but so secure, and the other inside her, three fingers now, curling deeper. The heat builds and builds and builds, deep at the core of her, and it’s coming out, and she’s coming, and and she can hardly stop herself from the cry that escapes.

“Villanelle.”

* * *

They lie there, in the center of the ring, for a while.

“Eve.”

Lying. Sitting. Breathing. Eve’s hand around Oksana rises and falls with the motion of her chest.

“Eve?”

It’s quiet. Late enough, or rather early enough, that there’s not much noise from traffic out on the street. The sky out the windows is beginning to soften, as the sun begins to rise.

“Eve, are you alive?”

“Mmm.”

A shadow passes over her face. And again. Oksana waving her hand back and forth in front of her. Like a really annoying, low-flying airplane.

“No words? No sentences?” Oksana rolls over onto her side, staring at Eve with concern. “I knew you should’ve had a full concussion check the other day.”

“I’m _fine_.” Eve also props herself up on her side, to face Oksana properly. The dim light of dawn coming through the window behind her makes Oksana look ethereal, almost ghostlike.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Let’s not talk. Let’s just stay here.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?”

“I’m getting kind of hungry, for one.” Oksana lights up. “Ooh! Let’s get Cinnabon!”

“Shh,” Eve grumbles.

“Come on, Eve, I won a championship last night! You can’t stop me from getting cinnamon buns!”

“I don’t want it to be over.” As soon as the words are out of Eve’s mouth, she regrets saying them. Saying them made it real. Saying them changed the very climate around them. The sunlight’s a little grayer, the room’s a little colder.

“What do you mean?” Oksana’s finger creeps out and starts doing a little dance on Eve’s shoulder. “There’s interviews, tomorrow… Today, I guess… and who knows how soon I’ll have to defend my title…”

Oksana keeps talking, but her words wash over Eve like white noise, like part of a dream. She’s drifting, untethered, until the sound of her name snaps her back. “Eve, it really freaks me out when you’re so quiet. Say something!” She punctuates this with a poke, which actually kind of hurts.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Oksana murmurs. “You’re always _thinking_ something. It’s weird when you don’t say it.”

For the first time in her life, Eve finds her reflex to state her opinion inactive. But Oksana looks positively distressed, so she digs inside to try to find the proper words for what she’s thinking.

“I think…” Eve begins. “That we should probably revise our contract.”

The shock and fury on Oksana’s face is so acute that Eve can only bite back her smile for half a second before adding, “Together. You know. Before we get into any sticky territory. Well, _stickier_.”

“Coming from you, that is… extremely romantic.”

“Don’t make it weirder than it has to be,” Eve groans.

“Look at us, Eve,” Oksana whispers, inching closer. “This is already weird.”

Eve can’t help but laugh, a little, into the kiss that follows.

It is weird. But for the first time in too long, she finds herself not at a bittersweet ending with a client. Not an ending at all, in fact. And she can’t wait to find out what else is in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on this ride. Sorry there were often long gaps between updates. Like I said, this story turned out to be a lot more challenging than I thought! 
> 
> Huge thanks to [charizona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charizona/pseuds/charizona) not only for beta reading this chapter, but also providing constant encouragement and accountability to finish this story. 
> 
> And thank you to all of you who read it, as well!
> 
> Now, don't mind me, I'm gonna crash and rest for a long time, after this. but got some real kooky ideas of what I might cook up next. In the meantime you can find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


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